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THE LIBRARY 

OF 

THE UNIVERSITY 
OF CALIFORNIA 

LOS ANGELES 




SONGS OF A SUNLIT LAND 



SONGS OF 
A SUNLIT LAND 



BY 

COLONEL KENNETH MACKAY, C.B. 

Author of "Stirrup Jingles," " A Bush Idyl, 
"The Yellow Wave," " Outback," etc. 



SYDNEY 

ANGUS AND ROBERTSON, LTD. 

89 CASTLEREAGH STREET 
1908 



Websdale, Shoosmith and Co., Printers, Sydney 



At> 



PREFACE. 

I have to thank the editors and proprietors of 
The Australasian (Melbourne), The Daily 
Telegraph, Sydney Mail, Bulletin, Sunday Times 
and Catholic Press (Sydney) and The Windsor 
and Richmond Gazette for permission to reprint 
those of the following verses which first appeared 
in their columns. 

I also wish to acknowledge that An Invoca- 
tion is to some extent indebted to my friend 
Rudyarcl Kipling's Recessional. 

K.M. 



1546426 



TO My WIFE 

No white-souled angel could have helped me 
more, 

I know of no one who will blame me less, 
Should I at last be cast upon the shore 

Of beggared circumstance and littleness. 

I have dear friends of proven faith and heart, 
Their love is still to me as star to night; 

But thou art as a planet set apart, 
A shining orb of ever-growing light. 

Sweetheart, there is scant music in these songs, 
Their measure marches to no lordly beat; 

Yet if one steadfast chord to them belongs, 

'Tis you who made it pure and strong and 
sweet. 



CONTENTS 

DEDICATION 

No white-souled angel could have 

helped me more, vii. 

PRELUDU 

To every merry maid and steadfast 

mate 1 

THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 

I love thy spaciousness. Each lonely 
distance, . 3 

SONS OF THE EMPIRE 

Above us the sword of the War-God 

swings 9 

THE SONG OF THE BUSH BRIGADES 

From beyond the coastal ranges, . 12 

THE PASSING OF THE SHEPHERD 

KINGS 
Vanguard forever doomed to die! . 14 

THE GREAT WESTERN DESERT 

From matted undergrowths the 

fronded pines 17 



x. CONTENTS 

PAGK 

THE SONG THAT MEN SHOULD SING 
The cohorts who fought when the 
world was young, 20 

PAPUA 

Lo ! from her cloud-compelling crest . 24 

AN INVOCATION 

Maker of earth and sky and sea, 28 

NAXKIBOO 

In a spot far remote from the horn's 
stirring note. 30 

THE STOCKMAN'S SONG 

No land have I beneath the sky, . . 32 

A MEMORY OF THE BACK BLOCKS 

By a box trunk, gnarled and hoary, 34 

WHAT NEED TO FEAR IF BLOOD 

BE TRUE 

"The race has reached and passed its 
prime," 

A BALLAD OF BYGOLOREE 

Away in the mallee, where back- 

blockers rally 41 



CONTENTS xi. 

I'AGK 

THE MIRAGE 

I had occasion on an earlier day . 47 

IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 

You may brag of charge and battle, 55 

TO ROWLEY PICKERING 

Because I deem that you would have 

it so, 65 

THE SMOKE VISION 

Above my bowl the smoke rings roll, 67 

TOMMY CORRIGAN 

Nevermore o'er rasping double . . 71 

WHEN HEROES MEET 

Up a straight that is bordered by 
thousands of eyes, 73 

HOW THE KING CAME HOME 

' ' They 're away ! ' ' rings out from a 

thousand throats ; 73 

JOHN TAIT 

Horsemen, bind a sable token . . 81 

ALICK ROBERTSON 

'Mid the flashing of silk and the 
thunder of feet 83 



xii. CONTENTS 

PXGK 

GLENLOTH'S CUP 

"Not started yet! What the deuce 

can be wrong? 85 

TARCOOLA'S CUP 

Why wail, prophet, of what may 
be? 83 

OF NO AQCOUXT 

"A fool who played with life and 

limb, 92 

OLD KANGAROO 

"You want to see the little chap . . 94 

A HORSE OF HISTORY 

Not from off the field of glory . . 97 

PATRON'S CUP 

Compare it not with Carbine's Cup 101 

STEEPLECHASE-DAY RHYMES 

THE SPORT OF KINGS 

They call it when the colours glow 107 
THE HORSEMAN'S CRITICS 

Brave sportsmen those, who filled the 

air 108 

HOW "LAST KING" FELL AND 
"MARMION" WON 

The sun has urged his west 'ring way . 109 



CONTENTS xiii. 

PAOK 

FESTAL 

Broke his neck, poor old horse ! So he 

finished his course 113 

A DREAM OF THE PAST 

The vision came as it comas alway, . 116 

WHEN THE LAST BELL RINGS 

Have you ever watched the people . 122 

TO MY MOTHER 

In token of a tender thought, . . 125 

MY QUEEN 

I would that I had met with thee, my 

Queen! 127 

HAND CLASPED IN HAND 

Hand clasped in hand, we each to each 
belong, 129 

WHEN SHADOWS FALL 

When shadows gather round our path- 
way, sweet, 131 

THE DREAM MAIDEN 

Dream maiden, watching wrapt and 

still 133 



xiv. CONTENTS 

MY GARDEN OF DREAMS 

In dreams I often chance to see . . 135 

REINCARNATION 

I do not know when first we mtt cr 
parted, 136 

THE PATHWAY OF THE SOUL 

This life is but a chapter in a story, . 138 

BY A BEDSIDE 

Close to your mother's breast . . 140 

TO MARJORY 

I cannot tell you where the path may 
lead 142 

BABY MINE 

All things are bright to you, baby 

mine; 143 

LIEUTENANT WHITE 

With the dawn still red in youth's 
radiant sky 145 

IN MEMORY OF IZZIE SPRING 

Not 'mid the sunshine of thy native 

land, 148 



CONTENTS xv. 

I'AUK 

THE QUEEN OF LOVE 

The Queen of Love is dead and all 
these years, 149 

THE SLAVE'S DANCING LESSON 
But yesterday a Queen, her tresses 

bound 152 

THE LADY NICOTINE 

A friend of mine, not long in town, . 155 

LOVE'S MYSTERY 

Tell me, poor mem 'ry-haunted ghosts, 158 

TO A MUSICIAN 

Lover of symphonies and rippling 
songs ........ 161 

EVE 

On thy dishonoured tomb we lay all 

sorrow, 162 

ETERNAL YOUTH 

Supple in soul and body, brave she 
leaps 166 

GOD GIVETH SLEEP 

This life is but an act. little girl, . 169 



To every merry maid and steadfast mate 
TJiat I have known in that dear land, 
Where loyalty and love walk hand in hand, 
I dedicate these rhym.es of camp and track. 

Far have I wandered from The Bush of late, 
Yet ever turns my inmost heart 
From crowded street and sordid city mart, 
To those who live God's free, true life Out Back. 



THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 

I LOVE thy spaciousness. Each lonely distance, 
Each scrub-set solitude, each sand-swept plain 

Calls to me with a mother's deep insistence, 
In symphonies of mingled joy and pain. 

Sweet scent of myall, belts of deep green yarran, 
The crimson splendour of thy solemn dawns, 

The stillness of thy deserts vast and barren, 
Where Death and Life play chess with men 
for pawns; 

The music of the horse bells then the rattle 
Of horn on horn, presaging fear and flight; 

The swift, uneasy stamp of "ringing" cattle, 
Then all things swallowed in the crashing 
night 

3 



4 THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 

Waking the last watch from their fitful slumbers, 

Rushing to where each horse expectant stands, 

Then for the "lead" God help the man who 

blunders 

When boughs stretch down, and grip with 
countless hands. 



Red, hunted eyes: a thousand hoofs' deep 

thunder 

Danger supreme to gallop at and face; 
Surges of living things that burst asunder, 
And ebb and flow in maddened waves through 
space. 



Fierce moments when your horse can race no 

faster ; 
Grim seconds when Death rides beside your 

knee; 

A swerve that touched the rim of sure disaster ; 
A stoop that missed that eager leaning tree: 



And then from out this hell of wild disorder, 
To ride and find "the mob" at last in hand 

What is a life that's lived by rule and order 
Beside the strenuous strife such hours demand ! 



THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 6 

Wild gallops through the brigalow and mallee, 
Where risks to life and limb are paid at call ; 

Long watches then the sudden moonlight rally, 
With keen-horned "outlaws" fighting as they 
fall. 



Glad hours of kingly strife with brave wild 
horses, 

Where'er he led, beside their best to race 
What joy has he in turfed and level courses 

Who once has met such chances face to face ! 



Long spring-time days when sheep are slowly 

creeping 

Across the plains and through the river runs, 
In slumb'rous hours when all the world 's a- 

sleeping 
Beneath the soft caress of sensuous suns. 



And then, at night, when camp fires red are 

gleaming, 

To yarn with trusted mates 'neath star-lit sky, 
Or else to slip into that land of dreaming, 
Which holds the storied realm of "bye and 
bye." 



6 THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 

Years of brave working full of high endeavour; 

Nights bright with hope, and days when hope 

is dead; 
Seasons when luck seems to have gone forever, 

And gold is not more hard to win than bread. 

Hot wastes, that ghastly roll calls hourly render 
Of Thirst's dread toll and Famine's life-fed 

sword ; 
Tossed seas of sand, transformed and rich with 

splendour 

Of shining lakes and miles of bloom-clad 
sward. 

Such are the fortunes of those dauntless legions 
Who seek to read thee, Sibyl of the West ! 

The wraiths of ruin haunt thy mystic regions, 
And yet, for all thy crimes, they love thee best. 



But thou hast in thy confines many a haven 
Where peace and plenty reign from year to 

year, 
Where lines on fair, white browfe are never 

graven 
By lonely days and nights of nameless fear. 



THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 7 

Where dance and song are never out of fashion, 
And life is an eternal, gracious Spring, 

Where honour is a creed, and love a passion, 
And every true man of himself is king. 



Lost station of my dreams, how many others 
Can see in memory's glass such bright eyes 

shine, 
When all the world was glad with us, my 

brothers, 
And love sat with us by the blazing pine? 



For oft, in dreams, I saddle up "out yonder" 
With one sweet woman waiting by my side, 

And far from sordid aims and hates we wander, 
Across green hills to where the world is wide. 



Strong silent men, steeled in the drought's dread 

battle, 

Lithe, self-reliant maids are gifts of thine: 
Thou hast no droves of dull-brained human cattle 
Within thy borders, tree-crowned land of 
mine! 



8 THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 

Fighting despair, true under all life's changes, 
Facing all risks whatever be their name, 

Learning 'neath burning suns on blazing ranges, 
What life's swift hazards are 'mid seas of 
flame. 

Such is the groundwork of the brave, old story 
Writ by the fathers of our land and race, 

Who fought and died without one hope of glory, 
And lie forgotten on thy sphinx-like face. 

Broad plains are thine, desert, and mountain 

fastness, 

Nature 's wild heart throbs in thy breast alone ; 
Within the magic circle of thy vastness 

Rest spreads her couch, Ambition builds his 
throne. 

Four square to changeful Fate you stand, my 
mother ! 

Crowned by the skies and girdled by the sea, 
God gave thee Freedom for a deathless lover 

That thou mayest cradle empires yet to be. 



SONS OF THE EMPIRE 

ABOVE us the sword of the War-God swings 

By a single strand to-day ; 
For the challenge of battle world-wide rings, 

From Europe to far Cathay. 

The vale of the Rhine is an armed camp, 
The steppes of the East resound 

To the clang of hoofs, and the endless tramp 
Of a host that's outward bound. 

For the sands yet wet with our brothers ' blood 
France stretches a mailed hand ; 

And our kin must fight for their nationhood 
Full soon on the golden Rand. 

9 



10 SONS OF THE EMPIRE 

But crouching alone on the world's wide face 

A lioness waits to spring; 
And, as one, each cub of her warlike race 

Will wake when her roar shall ring. 

Already the men by the frozen seas 

Watch eager on wave and shore, 
For sons of the Sea Queen all are these 

Both now and for evermore. 



On the rim and verge of the world's highway 

We dwell from our kin apart 
"They do not feel," I have heard men say, 

"The beat of the Empire's heart." 

"From their primal dawn they have waked and 
slept, 

From wars of the world remote; 
No sabre of their 's from its sheath has leapt 

At the trumpet's stirring note." 

"For a hundred years they have sown and cut 
The grain on their peaceful plains; 

Till in shop, and mansion, and lonely hut, 
The blood runs cold in their veins." 



SONS OF THE EMPIRE 11 

But sons of the Empire still are we, 

Not dead, though as yet asleep; 
And whene'er she calls, then on land and sea 

Our swords from their sheaths will leap. 

And not as dependents but equal peers 

We will fight, as freemen should, 
With the garnered strength of untrammeled 

years, 

For our common nationhood. 
1899 



FROM beyond the coastal ranges, 

Far from moan of harbour bars, 
Where the seasons know few changes, 

'Neath hot suns and drought-dimmed stars; 
Where a man loves this wise, brothers ! 

All true women, one true horse 
Caring little for all others, 

Be they better, be they worse. 

From where stockwhips still are ringing, 

And the branding fires still glow; 
And the lads their ropes are flinging, 

As they flung them years ago; 
Where it's nerves and eyes like lightning, 

When the order's "Slack his head," 
And you feel his muscles tightening 

As the loop begins to spread. 

From where boards are white with fleeces, 
And the cry is "Wool away," 

12 



THE SONG OF THE BUSH BRIGADES 13 

And the crumbling, feathery pieces 
Fall beneath the screens like spray; 

Where it's work till backs are breaking, 
And the wrists grow numb and dead, 

And each quivering muscle's aching, 
If you mean to ring the shed. 

From the tracks where men go droving 

Past the desert's farthest rim, 
With a courage won by roving 

Through the scrub lands grey and dim; 
Where it's "onward now or never," 

And the man who falters dies 
In a land, where, lost forever, 

Hundreds sleep with unclosed eyes 

We come! We come! We come! 
To the song of the clanking sabre, 

To the rhyme of the jingling bit; 
Every man beside his neighbour 

In his saddle will steadfast sit. 

We come! We come! We come! 

Our guides are the stars above; 

To ride while a horse in the ranks can stand, 
To strike and strike with a strong right hand 
For the hearths and homes of our native land, 

And the lives of the women we love. 



VANGUARD forever doomed to die! 

The hour draws near, 

When rope and shear 
Will, frayed and blunted, rotting lie ; 
When camp and yard will pass away, 
And bit and steel will useless rust 

In empty stalls, 

Where silence calls 
To silence, 'mid dishonoured dust. 



With iron will and steadfast face 

You led the way, 

In that dim day 
Which saw the dawning of our race. 

14 



THE PASSING OF THE SHEPHERD KINGS 15 

Empires have cradled in thy tents ; 
And millions hold, because of you, 

The lands you won, 

From snow and sun, 
When sea and shore alike were new. 



No foot of our Australian soil, 

But you have wet 

With blood or sweat, 
And sanctified with manly toil. 
Your women dared what men now fear, 
When, step by step, with you they trod 

That pain-strewed road, 

Bearing life's load 
Alone, with nature and with God. 



To-day your hoof-trod lands we need, 

So all the past 

Must be recast, 

That men may garner strength to breed 
A sturdier race than fetid spawn 
In narrow streets and filthy hives, 

Where crime takes shape, 

And passions rape 
The Godhood out of human lives. 



16 THE PASSING OF THE SHEPHERD KINGS 

Full soon this fair Arcadian dream 

Of primal peace 

Alas, must cease ! 

For, close at hand, strange watch fires gleam, 
And keen eyes mark our empty plains. 

So men must come, and sheep must go, 

If we would hold 

This land of gold 
Our fathers won us long ago. 

But when one fat with wine and corn. 

Who has forgot, 

Or knoweth not 

The tale of how his race was born, 
(In love with his own pampered self). 
The song of farm and orchard sings 

Whate'er his boast, 

Be mine to toast 
The memory of the Shepherd Kings. 



THE GREAT WESTERN DESERT 



FROM matted undergrowths the fronded pines 
Shoot skyward through the hot December air; 

About the sun-scorched mulga, silken lines 
Of cobweb hang in many a deft-spun snare. 

Scorched by the fierce caress of summer heat 
The weary grass low droops its spectral blades, 

And dead leaves crack beneath the stealthy feet 
Of dingoes gathering for their nightly raids. 

This is the land wherein the Sun-God wakes 
The demons dread of madness and of thirst; 

The home of barren clouds, and phantom lakes, 
Of goal-less tracks, and wastes by famine 
cursed. 

B 17 



18 THE GREAT WESTERN DESERT 

Here rot explorers' bones, and here, too, lie 
Leal-hearted mates who sought the lost in 

vain; 
Here pain has birth, and here high hopes must 

die, 
Weary of waiting for the promised rain. 



When o'er these trackless realms, the white-robed 
stars 

Shine dimly as upon a death- wooed place; 
And no fair moon shoots down her silver bars, 

To kiss the sorrow from Earth's weary face, 



Dread cries float upward from the dark-set boles, 
And 'glowing eyes stare out athwart the gloom ; 

Each barren aisle is peopled with sad souls, 
Moaning the gruesome story of their doom. 



For when chaste Night has wrapped her mantle 

fair 

About the dreary nooks where lie their bones ; 
The ghosts of this lone land whose lord 's 

Despair, 
Fill all her spaces with weird monotones. 



19 



By creeks, whose beds are littered with decay, 
O'er plains, whence fairy lakes allured their 

eyes, 
The spirits of the men who lost their way, 

Come through the shadows when the stars 
arise. 



Then, as they onward flit 'neath star and sky, 
Searching for mothers lost and widowed brides, 

The souls of those they seek on white wings hie, 
To be to them both comforters and guides. 



So, with the years, sad cries will sink and cease, 
And one by one, the dead men will have rest; 

Until, at last, a great abiding peace 
Will fill the vastness of the tearless West. 



THE SONG THAT MEN SHOULD SING 

THE cohorts who fought when the world \vas 
young, 

Have their blood-red legends told: 
For a hundred poets have bravely sung 

The deeds of the days of old. 

The story is writ of the men who fell 
In desert and sun-scorched track; 
The legions who served their country well 

I 

The heroes who marched Out Back." 

They have told the tale of a battle flag 

That floated all seas above, 
When the tattered folds of this crimson rag 

Were dearer than life or love. 

But they tell us now in their lifeless lays, 
These knights of the stool and pen, 
20 



THE SONG THAT MEN SHOULD SING 21 

We must boast no more of the stirring days 
When they fought and fell like men. 

But the tale is best that has oft been told, 

If it love of birthland bring; 
And the song they sang in the days of old 

Is the song that I will sing. 

For a people rot in the lap of ease, 

And trade, be it all in all, 
Breeds the canker worm of a fell disease, 

The germ of a nation's fall. 

It matters nothing what dreamers say 
When they prate that wars must cease, 

For the lustful War-God holds his sway 
In these "piping days of peace." 

We know there was never a country yet 

In the East, or in the West, 
That was worth the M-inning but has been wet 

With the life blood of its best. 

So our lads must learn there's a sterner task 
Than playing a well-pitched ball; 

That the land we love may some day ask 
For a team, when the trumpets call. 



22 THE SONG THAT MEN SHOULD SING 

A team that is ready to take the field 

To bowling with balls of lead, 
In a test match grim where if one appealed, 

The Umpire might answer "dead." 

It is wiell to collar and kick and pass, 

In a fierce-fought football match, 
And it's grand to bring a flyer to grass, 

While the barrackers breathless watch. 

But a time will come when the forwards' rush 
Will be on the tongues of flame, 

And the men in the scrums will faint and flush 
In the heat of a bloodier game. 

It is brave to ride in a strong-run race 
When the rails are lightly struck, 

And you drive your horse to a winning place 
In front of the weary ruck. 

But never forget that you yet may face 

A wall that is built of steel, 
In a "Death or Glory" steeplechase, 

With squadrons that sway and reel. 

On the falling ground where the stallions fling 
The foam from their sweat-drenched manes; 



THE SONG THAT MEN SHOULD SING 23 

Then the bushman feels that he is a king, 
Sole lord of the pine-clad plains. 

But a day may come when the scarlet bloom 

Will blossom on sabres bright, 
And the sombre isles of the scrub land's gloom 

Be lit with the battle's light. 

So the bushman 's wrist must be taught to swing 

A sword, not a silken lash, 
When the cheery notes of the stockwhip's ring 

Give place to the rifle's crash. 

For from mine and city and bushland track, 

When the eagles hover nigh, 
We must march to the sea to beat them back 

Or to die as freemen die. 

We ask for no foot of the Old World's face, 

No part of the New want we, 
But we mean to hold for our future race 

What is circled by our sea. 

So the tale is best that has oft been told, 

If it love of birthland bring, 
And the song they sang in the days of old 

Is the song that men should sing. 



PAPUA 

Lo! from her cloud-compelling crest 
Men saw the lost Lemuria die, 

Close hidden in her sun-kissed breast 
The secrets of dim ages lie. 

The world we know still shapeless lay 
Within the womb of long dead seas; 

Atlantis slowly passed away 
But she is older far than these. 

Perchance upon her mist-crowned head 
Some primal ark found resting place, 

What time the living and the dead 

Were hurled against her changeless face. 

Sister of long-forgotten lands, 
Daughter of fire, and air, and sea, 

24 



PAPUA 25 

Dower 'd with eternal youth she stands, 
Who was, and is, and is to be. 

Compass'd about with wreck-strewn reefs, 

The sirens ' song she -ever sings, 
Then laughs at all our hopes and griefs, 

For she has shared the woes of kings. 

Broad-fronded palms and regal vines 
Hang as a ramee round her hips, 

Hibiscus bloom her hair entwines, 
The blood of summer paints her lips. 

Her fruitful breasts rise full and round, 
Free to be woo'd by shower or sun; 

She sits and waits by reef and sound, 
A mistress worthy to be won. 

Suitors in plenty has she known, 

Sea kings who steered by sun and stars ; 

Great Captains' flags have bravely flown 
Without her sand-built harbour bars. 

Some shut their ears and went their ways, 
Past lilting song and reef-rimmed shore, 

Some anchor cast in coral bays, 

And rode the ocean wide no more. 



26 PAPUA 

She lured them to her couch of palms, 
And kissed them with her fevered breath, 

Holding them in her round, brown arms 
Until they slept the sleep of death. 

Seducers of a baser kind, 

Blind devotees of luck and chance, 
Have drifted to her on the wind 

Of fear and doubtful circumstance. 

But low she laughs at fools and knaves 
Who seek her heart for pelf and pay ; 

And hides in swamps and mountain graves 
The sordid hopes of such as they. 

No lovers born of greed wants she, 
This mother of a brood half grown, 

Her master that is yet to be 

Must guard her children as his own. 

So still she waits "the shining one/' 
With heart of gold and soul of snow, 

Whose wisdom all may read who run, 
Whose justice even babes may know. 

And when he comes, her stubborn will 
Will yield beneath his pure embrace, 



PAPUA 27 

And songs that lure, and lips that kill, 
No more will vex her comely face. 

For he will guide with even hands 
The halting feet of primal tribes, 

And teach the sons of newer lands 
To make a lesson of their lives. 

Till brown and white beneath his lead 
Will fairly bear a common load; 

And children of the lesser breed 
Begin to climb a nobler road. 



AN INVOCATION 



MAKER of earth and sky and sea, 
Spirit and Lord of time and tide, 

Oh, keep us free, as Thou art free, 
From sinful sloth and foolish pride! 

Grant us, God, the sight divine, 

That steadfast steers its course by Thee, 

So that our lives as lamps may shine, 
To guide Australia's destiny. 

Give us the brotherhood that knows 
No bar of caste, no pride of creed; 

The unstained soil where Freedom sows 
Fair fields with her immortal seed. 

If, tempted by the dream of power, 
We join in quarrels lightly made, 

28 



AN INVOCATION 29 

Hold Thou our hands in that mad hour 
From guilt of blood and lustful raid. 

Save us, we pray, from sordid greed, 
From churlish fear with men to share 

The empty lands we do not need, 
The burdens that we may not bear. 

Nor suffer us because Thy seas 

Keep watch o'er wastes as yet unwon, 

To put a childish trust in these, 
And leave our duty yet undone. 

Lord, strengthen Thou our hearts and thews, 
Be priest and leader of our race, 

Teach us our heritage to use, 

In this Thy day of peace and grace. 

From gross delights and selfish aims, 
From souls that love whate'er is mean, 

From every thought that mars or shames, 
Keep Thou our waking manhood clean. 

Just Ruler of all seas and lands, 
Give us the right to have and hold 

In Freedom's name, with pure strong hands, 
This virgin Isle with heart of gold. 



NANKIBOO 



IN a spot far remote from the horn's stirring 

note, 

In a land where the fences are few, 
You may dream o'er again of the days of 

Col 'raine, 
And, in fancy, your triumphs renew ! 

Twenty years must have flown since you first 

held your own 

With the best over water and wall, 
Now, alas, for those days and their dare devil 

ways, 
And the men of the past, one and all ! 

Could you wander, old horse, to that far western 

course, 
Much I fear you would seek it in vain : 

30 



NANKIBOO 31 

For the fences you faced have to-day been dis- 
placed, 
And no signs of the stockyard remain! 

While the horses you met when the plough lands 

were wet 

May no longer the bright water face, 
And the men that you bore will, alas, ride no 

more 
For the glory and love of the race ! 

Some may say I am wrong, but I hold that the 

throng 

Of horsemen who lived in your prime 
Sent their bravest and best from the fields of the 

West 
Ere they sacrificed "jumping" to "time." 

So a Godspeed to you, gallant old Nankiboo, 
In your home on the far distant Bland, 

May you roam at your ease 'neath the silver- 
topped trees 
Caressed bv a woman 's white hand ! 



THE STOCKMAN'S SONG 

No land have I beneath the sky, 

For me no welcomes ring, 
No title old is mine to hold, 

And yet, I am a king ! 
For lord I reign o'er hill and plain, 

Altho' I only own 
A gallant steed of fearless breed, 

A saddle for a throne. 

When foam-flecks stain each tossing mane 

On dust-enshrouded tracks, 
I love to hear ring sharp and clear 

The stockwhip's echoing cracks; 
For when each heel drives home the steel, 

And red are reeking sides, 
He is their king who, on the wing, 

O'er hill and valley rides. 

32 



THE STOCKMAN'S SONG 33 

No coward he I trow must be, 

Who in the stockyard stands 
When crests are thrust through clouds of dust 

And smoke of hissing brands; 
When eyeballs glow in heads held low, 

And horns are keen as swords, 
He plays with life in desp'rate strife. 

Who tames the forest lords. 

Give me my steed of fearless breed, 

The whip and reins I hold; 
The breath of towns my manhood drowns, 

A fig for desk- won gold! 
You, too, may keep your ploughs and sheep, 

And all the wealth they bring, 
For 'mid the tramp of yard and camp 

I feel I am a king ! 



A MEMORY OF THE BACK BLOCKS 



BY a box trunk, gnarled and hoary, 
Stands the subject of my story, 
Shaded from the noontide glory 

Sleeping 'neath the tree. 
Round him blithesome colts are neighing, 
'Mid the silken grasses playing; 
On their chains the dogs are baying, 

Longing to be free. 



Near to earth his mane is trailing, 
Strength and sight alike are failing; 
Yet, in dreams, he still is sailing 

Over hill and lea : 

Through the barren scrub land racing, 
Fierce-eyed forest outlaws chasing, 
Logs and gaping chasms facing, 

Swiftly bearing me. 

34 



A MEMORY OF THE BACK BLOCKS 35 

Temper gentle, courage fiery, 
Limbs and body lean and wiry; 
Swift on firm ground or on miry, 

Brave and true was he. 
Well I mind an old December, 
He must too, I think, remember 
When we both, 'mid ash and ember, 

Faced a flaming sea. 



He and I had both been spelling 

At a far out-station dwelling, 

Where there lived but what use telling 

Of the Moondi's pride. 
Where I first had chanced to meet her, 
By what name I chose to greet her 
Matters not I held her sweeter 

Than all else beside. 



In the sultry summer weather, 
She and I, one day together, 
Wandered far through scrub and heather, 

"Darkie" at our side. 
When it chanced the "myalls" found us 
Firing all the lands around us, 
Till for miles the demons bound us 

In a fiery tide. 



36 A MEMORY OF THE BACK BLOCKS 

Little time was left for thinking, 

With the red-lipped circle shrinking, 

Life blood from the green boughs drinking, 

Feasting on the dried. 
So I coiled the hair that crowned her, 
O'er her face then tightly bound her 
With her robe put one arm round her 

Then began my ride. 



Never thought my horse of turning, 
On he raced, the hot earth spurning, 
E'en although the branches burning, 

Falling, fired his mane. 
On, and on, with hot hoofs toiling. 
On, until my brain seemed boiling, 
And the hungry flames were coiling 

Round my bridle rein. 

Then, Great God, I felt a shiver, 
As when unstrung muscles quiver 
No, he'd smelt the God-sent river; 

Yonder stretched the plain. 
On he dashed, into the water, 
Safe across the stream he brought her, 
Closely to my heart I caught her, 

Ne'er to part again. 



A MEMORY OF THE BACK BLOCKS 37 

Never more o'er hill and valley, 
Did my old horse brumbies rally, 
Never more did pine or mallee 

Know his dauntless crest. 
Never more in woodland battle 
Did the red-eyed mallee cattle 
Hear his flying hoofs' sharp rattle, 

Racing past their best. 

For that day he gave his splendid 
Strength, that we might be defended; 
And his triumphs all were ended, 

When the bank he pressed. 
Blackened hoofs were scorched and bloody, 
And each footprint left a ruddy 
Stain upon the stream bank muddy ; 

Sunken was his chest. 



'Then my mistress put her tender 
Arms about her brave defender; 
Kissed, and bade me well remember, 

He had made us blest. 
So, amid the richest masses 
Of the green and golden grasses, 
"Darkie," loved and cared for, passes 

Days of well-won rest. 



WHAT NEED TO FEAE IF BLOOD 
BE TRUE 

"THE race has reached and passed its prime, ; 

Sneer weakling sons of sturdy sires; 
Then why in every untrod clime, 

Burn bright our Empire's outpost fires? 



Hated because she took the task 

From supine rulers' nerveless hands; 

She gave her blood that all may bask 
In safety on her hard-won lands. 



And so she holds the envied dower 
Of Indian states made rich and free, 

And peoples proud to own her power, 
And fight her foes, whoe'er they be. 

38 



WHAT NEKD TO FEAR IF BLOOD BE TRUE 39 

With blood and treasure, mile by mile, 

She won the Soudan back at last, 
And soon a freed and fertile Nile 

Will wake the Egypt of the past. 



Proud scars of conquest seam her face, 
But new blood comes to warm her veins 

From every nation, tribe, and race 

Where Freedom grows, and Justice reigns. 



Her children hold the priceless West. 

Unconquered, free, like all her sons, 
And deep and strong within each breast 

The crimson stream of kinship runs. 



And, when she calls, the sea and land 
Will give her fleets and eager hosts, 

For all her "outposts" firm will stand 
As one, to guard her countless coasts. 



Then Powers may raise their crops of steel, 
And fill with ships each water-way, 

For with the native-born all leal 

"The Race" can hold the world at bay. 



40 WHAT NEED TO FEAR IF BLOOD BE TRUE 

So, while her sons to blood keep true, 
Our Empire still her foes can scorn; 

And soil on which our fathers grew 
Will cradle kingdoms yet unborn. 



A BALLAD OF BYGOLOREE 



AWAY in the mallee, where back-blockers rally 

The pikers through scrub land and clear, 
And keen horsemen battle, where horns gleam 
and rattle, 

With hearts that are strangers to fear; 
We got up some races where beauty -lit faces 

Were present our triumphs to greet; 
For thanks to our patrons or rather the 
matrons, 

The ladies had honoured our meet. 

The horse I'd been training but hang the 
explaining ! 

I, at least, didn't ride him that day: 
For to finish the matter I couldn't grow fatter, 

So Tom Cox himself rode the grey. 

41 



42 A BALLAD OF BYGOLORKE 

But Patrick, a joker conversant with poker, 
Said his nag could "win in a walk," 

Having plenty of muscle to fight out a tussle, 
And also no fancy to baulk. 

I offered to ride him, but when he untied him 

From the fence he'd hung to all night, 
It struck me my chances of winning bright glances 

Were putting it mildly not bright. 
"He looks a bit seedy, and not over greedy 

For racing, ' ' I ventured io say. 
"In three tries," said Patrick, "you'll just win 
the hat trick, 

You bet he can gallop all day." 

I felt it was risky, but thanks to the whisky 

My notions of danger grew small, 
While What I might suffer from riding a duffer 

Was all bottled up in a fall; 
So joining the others who really were brothers 

As far as the class of their steeds; 
We each did our canter, 'mid volleys of banter 

Regarding the build of our weeds. 

I felt i'f I sat him and always kept at him 
Old Stockwell had bottom enough, 

While most of our riders were only outsiders, 
Though made of the right sort of stuff, 



A BALLAD OF BYGOLOREE 43 

Whose notions of winning were from the 
beginning 

To hold a position in front 
Views apt to diminish their chance of a finish 

If up at the end of a hunt. 

But still there was one in, not wanting in 

cunning, 

Who sat like a leech, so to speak, 
But then he was steering (a fact somewhat 

cheering) 

A young one as green as a leek. 
Down went the old duster (the best we could 

muster), 

And off to the front went a man 
Who handled a black one, a tall and a slack one, 
While the rest tried "catch who catch can." 

We raced in a cluster, well worthy a buster, 

At the fence which stood at the bend, 
V\ iiere 'mid much refusing and graphic abusing, 

The fav 'rites slipped round the end; 
But Brown was still striving, by dint of hard 
driving, 

Old Charcoal to keep in the lead, 
When Cox on the grey one, who split with the 
bay one 

Somewhere near the whole of our speed, 



44 A BALLAD OF BYGOLOREE 

Came up, pulling double, through horses in 

trouble, 

For baulking, and slowness thrown in, 
Gave one who was plucky and chanced to be 

lucky 

Lots of time to fall down and win, 
And catching the black one, who was but a hack 

one 

Would buy for the way that he fenced, 
Away he went sailing, while Fred formed the 

tail in 
A field that was getting condensed. 

They swung round the turning, each man of 

them spurning 

All dread of a fracture or break: 
For reckless and daring, for nought on earth 

caring, 

Each rode for a woman's fair sake. 
Now past me went dashing, a weak pine pole 

smashing 

Fred O'Cock, the best of us all; 
"Good-bye, Jim," he shouted, as hard the brown 

clouted, 
"I think I can win, bar a fall." 



A BALLAD OF BYGOLOREE 45 

I felt the pace slowing, and, keeping him going, 

Old Stockwell was soon running third, 
While O'Cock was chasing Glendeer, who was 

racing 

And jumping as clean as a bird. 
With knees and hands riding, each horse fiercely 

striding, 

They battled in front of the ruck, 
While those I was leaving were blowing and 

'heaving, 
And the colours of Sultan were struck. 

I heard their hoofs striking a tune to my liking, 

As both flew the last fence but one, 
And saw their whips flashing, as through the rail 
crashing, 

My mount landed reeling and done, 
I pulled him together God only knows whether 

He knew, but I think that he must 
For as they were flying the last, I was lying 

Not two lengths behind, in their dust. 

Both locked, they came to it ; the brown one went 
through it, 

And ere he got going again, 
With never a blunder, and jumping like thunder, 

Old Stockwell had reached the grey's rein; 



46 A BALLAD OF BYGOLOREE 

Aim still onward creeping, with long, low stride 

sweeping, 

Whip-stung, but still coming, he led, 
And 'Cock's rush stalling, 'mid yelling 

appalling, 
Got home by a fairly long head. 



THE MIRAGE 



I HAD occasion on an earlier day 

With one to travel through a trackless land 
Where dying leaves in dull confusion lay, 

And Thirst and Hunger wandered hand in 
hand. 

Where banks of creeks were white with bleaching 

bones 
And trampled by the hoofs of hurrying 

things ; 

Where all the sultry air was full of moans 
And lazy strokes of watching eagles' wings. 

Slow toiling on, we reached a treeless plain 
A waste devoid of grass and full of heat, 

Where every step was fraught with nameless pain 
To weary horses' weak and dragging feet. 

47 



48 THK MIRAGE 

And as we gazed with hungry hopeless eyes 
Across the wide expanse for track or tree, 

Before our doubting visions seemed to rise 
In glittering waves a wondrous inland sea! 

Athwart its silver breast the shadows fell 
From giant trees whose feet the water met; 

While every wooded point and grass-paved dell 
Seemed robed in regal verdure, fresh and wet. 

Far from the shore, beyond the longest shades, 
Each wave was crowned with dancing gleams 

of light- 
Such as are seen to flash from whirling blades 
When strong-armed champions lead the 
desperate fight. 

Hope clad in all the radiance of the East 

Cast o'er our dimming eyes its deathless spell 

On other limbs than ours the worms might feast 
Amid the sand-drifts of that burning hell. 

For lo! from out the realms of Death's domain 
Life rode to meet us on the sun-dyed waves, 

Bidding us burst the ghastly chains in twain 
That bound us to the brinks of waiting graves. 



THE MIRAGE 49 

Pricking their drooping ears our horses caught 
The bits that late in listless jaws had lain, 

While for their stretching heads they fiercely 

fought 
As though in chase of forest droves again. 

Swift gathering up each muscle, flaccid grown 
In weary wandering through the scrub accurst, 

Onward they dashed o 'er leaping crack and stone 
With limbs that borrowed strength from days 
of thirst. 

God knows the length of that wild, reckless ride 
O'er drought-split ground beneath a blazing 
sun; 

I only know our pack horse dropped and died 
And yet the gleaming lake remained unwon. 

But my old favourite, though the sweat drops 
stood 

About his eyes and on his dust-dimmed hair, 
Still showed a courage worthy of the blood 

That bade the son of Panic do and dare. 

While on his quarter hung the lean game head 
Of her who bore my mate on flying feet, 

For only when her gallant heart was dead 

Would Premier's high-bred daughter own 
defeat. 



50 THE MIRAGE 

On, on we raced, till heaving sides proclaimed 
That even iron wills at last must break; 

My horse was swaying, Jackson 's mare was lamed, 
And God of Heaven! where was now the 
lake? 

Gone! not a drop of moisture met the eye, 
Our horses sniffed like bloodhounds when -at 
fault, 

Out to the dim horizon all was dry 

The fiend-limned lake a bed of glittering salt ! 

I know not if despair fed on my face 
But swear I felt its grip upon my heart 

As when one bound and fettered takes his place 
Upon the straw that beds the headsman's cart. 

Turning I caught my comrade's blasting stare, 
Great God! his eyeballs burnt me like a coal: 

For in them blazed the madness and despair 
Of some for ever lost and damned soul. 

Trembling in every limb our horses sank 
Their sweating heads, until each drooping 

mane 
Trailed in the dust, from which their nostrils 

drank 
Fierce draughts of agony and hopeless pain. 



THE MIRAGE 51 

All, all was lost! Death hovered overhead! 

Around us lay the bones he had picked bare ! 
Noiseless he stooped again with Life to wed 

As with a choking gasp down dropped the 
mare. 

Silent we watched the hoofs that feebly moved, 
The quivering nostrils stained with dust and 

sand, 
The pain-drawn eyes that looked to him she 

loved 
And seemed to ask for succour at his hand. 



One long convulsive throe, one cry she gave, 
And then, the lissom limbs were still for aye; 

Dull grew the soft brown eyes so true and 

brave, 
Among the dead old Premier's daughter lay. 



With shaking hand my comrade drew his knife 

And threw himself beside his silent steed: 
"Here, take your share," he said, "her blood is 

life, 

Here is the draught of which we stand in 
need." 



52 THE MIRAGE 

"Jackson," I shouted, "Death is at your lip"- 

But, knife in hand, he held me now at bay, 
"Stand back," he yelled, "thirst has me at the 

whip, 

By Heaven! I'll kill the fool who bars my 
way. ' ' 



With feverish strength he gashed her net-like 

veins, 
And sucked the ruddy stream with frenzied 

haste, 

Then, all his beard begrimed with crimson stains, 
Pie senseless sank upon the burning waste. 



Slow flowed the darksome stream. Amid the dust 
I stood with swollen tongue and burning brain, 

Till to me came a fierce o'er mastering lust 
To drink, and in a moment end my pain. 



I knelt at last beside the clotting pool, 

Strength, sense, and manhood, by my thirst 

o 'erthrown, 

For now the sickening mass seemed sweet and cool 
As some deep-shaded spring with flowers 
o'ergrown. 



THE MIRAGE 53 

Then, ere I drank, stayed by some sense of shame, 
I looked into my dumb friend's steadfast eyes, 

And from their patient depths a message came 
That bade the soul within me wake and rise. 

Strength came again, I roused my senseless mate 
And fiercely swore the waiting death to baulk : 

"Come on," I cried, "why court a coward's fate? 
Life is not lost while we have strength to 
walk." 

So, on we crept across the burning sands, 
On feet that barely answered to our will; 

Two wanderers on the britik of unknown lands, 
To whom my gallant horse kept faithful still. 



No succour came, and now my comrade fell 
Prone to the dust, and bade me let him lie : 

"Within my bosom burn the pains of Hell, 
Leave me, ' ' he cried, " ! Christ ! that I could 
die." 

"Each drop of blood I swallowed is a fire 
That burns about my throat and in my chest, 

O God! I swear a coil of red-hot wire 

Is wound and twisted round my cracking 
breast. ' ' 



64 THE MIRAGE 

He would not rise I had no strength to bear 
His fevered form along the trackless way; 

With curses deep, he tore his blood-stained hair. 
Then prattled like a little child at play. 

Delirium held him in its ruthless grasp, 

Froth dyed the crimson of his matted beard, 

He seized the flinty earth with fearsome clasp 
And shouted songs in accents wild and weird. 

Then, springing to his feet, he clutched the air 
As though to grasp some beaker overhead ; 

"The cup has gone," he yelled in mad despair, 
And fell upon the barren desert dead. 



God knows what happened then ; I cannot say. 

They tell me I was found close to his side. 
A murky shadow covers half that day; 

For memory left me after Jackson died. 



IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 

You may brag of charge and battle, 

Paint the gleam of angry steel, 
When the foemen's rifles rattle 

And the gallant squadrons wheel; 
Where each sabre's blade is flushing 

With the life blood of the brave, 
And the cheering line is rushing 

"On to glory or the grave." 
You may sing of decks bespattered 

With the blood of hero tars, 
When the stout ships' sides are shattered 

And the round shot rakes her spars, 
When the answer "No surrender" 

Rings defiant to the sky: 
"If alive we can't defend her, 

With the good ship we will die." 



fi6 IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 

Now, old mate, we need not quarrel, 

All the same I'll have my say, 
Mind, I would not pluck a laurel 

From the brows of such as they; 
But I'll tell you, lad, the story 

Of a miner I once knew, 
Leaving judgment as to glory 

When I've finished it to you. 

Jack was such another fellow 

As one meets with every day 
Where the diggers' moles grow yellow 

With the puddling and the clay; 
He had never faced a volley, 

Boasted neither clasp nor star; 
But he loved a chit named Polly 

In the digging shanty's bar. 
She was well, a painted lily, 

Reared by man for manhood's bane, 
Soiled and sinful, sordid, silly, 

Full of chaff, but void of grain. 
Yet he lingered o'er his liquor 

At her soul-less eyes' command, 
And his sturdy pulse beat quicker 

When she, careless, touched his hand. 
So she played him as a player 

Idly strums upon the keys, 



IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 57 

Till there came a lover gayer 

Than this chump with yellow knees. 
When she coolly came the double; 

Dropped the old love for the new: 
Then we cleared the decks for trouble 

And Jack punched him black and blue. 
As a rule, a good blood-letting 

Heals the average digger's sore, 
But this ended in their getting 

Just to hate each other more. 



He was straight and smart and dapper, 

Was this chap who cut out Jack, 
And he said he'd been a sapper 

Anyway he'd got the knack 
Of exploding shots, and splitting 

Every sort and size of block, 
From the quartz on which we're sitting 

To the toughest breed of rock: 
So, when Gulgong Jim reported 

He'd a basalt bar in view, 
This young sapper-cove was sorted 

Out with Jack to burst it through. 



Lad, I don't pan out on praying, 
But I 've felt a bit that way 



58 IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 

When the straining rope was swaying 

And the light grew weird and grey. 
Mind, we went down with the bucket, 

We'd no cages then for ''shifts," 
You could either chance or chuck it 

And be hanged to patent lifts ; 
But that day I would have parted 

Half my share to go with Jack, 
He was desperate broken-hearted, 

And I felt his soul was black. 
While that cur we called "The Sapper 1 

Was a coward born and bred, 
And I felt he'd use his "napper," 

If he dared, on old Jack's head. 
Down they went, their faces level, 

Eye to eye with hate aglow, 
In each heart an angry devil, 

To the gloomy depths below; 
Hating, watching, neither speaking, 

Sank they slowly into space, 
'Mid the windlass' eerie creaking, 

Past the timbers' dripping face. 

Steadily myself and Docker, 
Coil on coil of rope unwound, 

'Till the clanging of the "knocker" 
Told us they had run to ground, 



IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 59 

Told us that two men were kneeling 

Close together, gads in hand, 
Both their brains with vengeance reeling, 

Groping 'mid the mud and sand, 
Down in silence deep, unbroken, 

Shut from every mortal eye, 
Where the fiercest curse yet spoken 

Would on earless granite die. 

Men don't talk when steadfast hating 

Soaks the marrow in their bones, 
All was silent save the grating 

Of their gads upon the stones; 
But whene'er they touched each other 

Every muscle felt the thrill, 
For they doubted one another 

And they watched each other's drill; 
So they bored and charged each pocket, 

Saw each fuse was well aglow. 
Burning in its canvas socket 

Shone each light away below. 
Foot to foot, their faces level, 

Eye to eye with hate aflame, 
In each heart an angry devil; 

At the signal up they came, 
Hating, watching, neither speaking, 

Rose they swiftly into space, 



60 IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 

'Mid the windlass' cheery creaking, 
Past the timbers' dripping face. 



Twenty feet is left behind them, 
Fifty more and they are safe, 

Bravely bend the arms that wind them, 
See the stout rope sway and chafe; 

Stay what's wrong? the pull is lighter- 
Loud the warning knocker clangs, 

Close set lips grow whiter, tighter, 
Motionless the taut rope hangs. 



When he told us all the story, 

This is how it came to pan 
You can keep your blood-cursed glory 

I'll stand on this digger man. 
In those days our style of splitting 

Was, to put it mildly, rough, 
And we reckoned damn bad fitting, 

If not handsome, good enough; 
So, it chanced, "The Sapper" clinging 

Hands to rope and feet on rim 
Never saw the bucket swinging 

On a peg worse luck for him. 



IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 61 

That was all that Jack remembers: 
Just a jerk ''The Sapper's" yell 

Far below five glowing embers 
Dazed, he pulled the warning bell. 



In the shaft a man and devil 

On the bucket's slanting rim, 
Hanging o'er the lowest level, 

Fought a battle, silent, grim. 
Far below, the cur he hated 

Lay, for all he knew, stone dead; 
Up above he could be mated 

To the girl he longed to wed. 
"Down below the burning fuses 

"Near each charge," the demon said, 
"He who tries to save him chooses 

' ' Death upon the self-same bed. 
"Let him die what does it matter? 

"lie was neither friend nor mate, 
"But a dog who dared to shatter 

"All your hopes why share his fate?" 
So he fought the hate within him, 

One hand on the signal line, 
And the devil thought to win him 

In the darkness of the mine: 
For the seconds kept on ticking 

While five eager eyes grew large, 



62 IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 

And a spark would soon be pricking 

At the heart of every charge. 
Then he cast one look above him, 

Muttered hoarsely, ' ' Damn it, NO ! 
' ' If she likes ; well, let her love him ! ' '- 

Gave the signal for " below." 
Docker muttered "Mad; by thunder! 

'' 'Down below' it reads quite plain 
"Steady, man, they've made a blunder 

4 No hark ! there it goes again ! ' ' 
Up on top, well, means obeying, 

Be the signal what it may; 
So we set the rope a-playing 

And we lowered right away. 

Jack would never tell his feelings 

As he sank towards the blast, 
But I guess that he had dealings 

With the spirits of the past; 
For it seemed the time to reckon 

Up one's show of Heav'n or Hell, 
Just the spot where angels beckon 

Or "blue devils" ring their knell. 
God! the grimness of that journey 

Down the dripping timbered way 
When he knew that, every turn, he 

Was departing from the day, 



IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 63 

Leaving light and life behind him 

For the darkness and the death 
Which, for all he knew, would find him, 

Scorch him with its fiery breath. 
Down at last! now every second 

Must be used before it's fled. 
How the swaying rope coils beckoned ! 

Why not swear the man was dead? 
He was senseless, could he lift him? 

Was it worth his while to try? 
"Yes, by God!" said Jack, "111 shift him 

"Or together we will die." 
W T hat of time ah! thought appalling, 

He had Death himself to beat 
For the fuse fires still were crawling 

To the powder at his feet. 
He must draw them they will light it 

Down he kneels beside a fuse, 
Now with hands and feet he fights it, 

Not a second dare he lose. 
Four have drawn the last keeps breaking, 

He must chance it up he springs; 
God be thanked! "The Sapper's" waking 

To the digger's hand he clings. 
In his arms Jack tightly folds him, 

Life upon his swiftness hangs, 
On the bucket firm he holds him 

Fierce the warning knocker clangs! 



84 IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 

Locked as one, their faces level 

At the signal up they rise 
In each heart an angry devil 

Starved and hopeless, droops and dies. 
Silent, listening, neither speaking, 

Shoot they swiftly into space, 
'Mid the windlass' cheery creaking, 

Past the timbers' dripping face. 



Now you've heard my hero's story, 
How d'you think it seems to pan? 

You can keep your blood-cursed glory, 
I '11 stand on this digger man ! 



TO ROWLEY PICKERING 

("Nemo.") 

Because I deem that you would have it so, 
I offer you these jingles of the past, 



For well I know a lasting love thou hast 
For true run race and bravely planted blow. 

Nor have I yet forgot that at a time 

When sympathy and help were more than gold, 
You gave me both with plentitude untold, 

And found a place for many a ragged rhyme. 

So, rider keen and scribe of sporting days, 
Knowing full well that you will understand, 
I give as friend to friend into your hand, 

These roughly hewn and halting racing lays. 



THE SMOKE VISION 

ABOVE my bowl the smoke rings roll, 

While from forgotten places 
Swift memory brings on noiseless wings 

A flight of forms and faces, 
Till trophied walls re-echo calls 

From densely peopled courses, 
And all the air around my chair 

Is filled with men and horses. 



O'er shadowy leaps, a horseman sweeps, 

To fair Parnassus riding 
A pallid steed of fearsome breed, 

Through spectre horses guiding; 
By mist-hung posts and silk-clad ghosts, 

And on o'er forest grasses, 
To join the throng of deathless song 

The shade of Gordon passes. 

r 



68 THE SMOKE VISION 

Now through the haze that shrouds my gaze, 

A field in scarlet battle, 
Past wooded vales and over rails, 

On strange uncanny cattle; 
But he who leads through brakes and meads 

And up each deep-set hollow, 
Flits white and still o'er wall and hill, 

For lo! 'tis Bowes they follow. 

Athwart the night I see the light 

Of danger signals glowing, 
I seem to be beside a sea 

Whose waves are restless flowing, 
While from a wreck's upriven decks 

A bloodlike steed emerges, 
And, speeding home across the foam, 

McGrade rides o'er the surges. 

Through fitful rays I catch the blaze 

Of spurs and stirrups flashing, 
As Donald sails against the rails 

Through reeling leaders dashing; 
Then all grows black, as on a track 

Where mournful pines are sighing, 
The sun-shafts shine where Silvermine, 

With one he bore, is lying. 



THE SMOKE VISION 69 

The vision fades, then 'mong the shades 

A ghastly chase commences, 
And gallant Crae now leads the way 

O'er flights of weird-like fences, 
'Mid fearsome shouts a jumper clouts 

Yon stiff and rasping paling, 
And through the crowd the doomed McLeod 

Flits past the white-set railing. 

Through smoke-born clouds the silken shrouds 

Of wondrous riders battle, 
As down "the straight" of Time and Fate 

The phantom horses rattle; 
For through each ring there seems to spring 

A train of men and horses, 
Whom oft I met when spurs were wet 

On hoof-betrampled courses. 

And on the room descends a gloom, 

As fast before me races 
A bloodless band from spirit land, 

With cold and stony faces ; 
Whose horses' feet give hollow beat, 

Unheard in earthly stable, 
For those they bear the colours wear 

Of one whose silks are sable. 



70 THE SMOKE VISION 

From listless lips my meerschaum slips 

And fancy spreads its pinions, 
For with its fall the phantoms all 

Ride back to Death's dominions. 
In vain I look o'er wall and nook 

Alas! each form is banished, 
Through empty air I sadly stare 

The horsemen all have vanished. 



TOMMY CORRIGAN 

NEVERMORE o'er rasping double 
With the field behind in trouble, 

Will the prince 01 horsemen sweep; 
For, with nerve and heart unshaken, 
Corrigan has faced and taken 

Life's last, stiffest, stoutest leap. 

Thirty years of charmed existence 
Wearied not the dread persistence 

Of a horse who never tires; 
And, to-day, the fleshless Rider 
Of this white, unbacked, outsider 

Scored a win : so say the wires ! 

Riders dear to Western story, 
Men who raced for love and glory, 
Sport the scarlet, grasp the rein; 

71 



72 TOMMY CORRIGAN 

Spirits who have known the gladness 
In four miles of pace-born madness, 
Don the colours once again ! 

Shades of horsemen long departed 
(Rise and greet a gallant-hearted 

Brother from the nether shore; 
Bowes and Wilson, reckless Fender, 
Singer, girt with death-won splendour, 

Mount your phantom steeds once more ! 

Ghosts who once on earthly courses 
Backed his bravely-handled horses, 

Cheer him homeward as of yore : 
Let him hear your voices hailing, 
As he flies Death's boundary paling 

Into life for evermore! 



WHEN HEROES MEET 
(Melbourne, 2nd November, 1889.) 

UP a straight that is bordered by thousands of 

eyes, 

The champions pace proudly, 
As over the paddock and hill the hoarse cries 

Of the layers ring loudly. 
Golden-skinned and bright-eyed comes the pride 

of the South, 

Down the rails bravely sweeping, 
And the host who have trusted him cry with one 

mouth, 
"We are safe in his keeping." 

With a coat smooth as satin and muscles of steel, 

Comes another defender 

For the flag of the South, when ranks sway and 
reel, 

And the wet sides wax tender ; 

73 



74 WHEN HEROES MEET 

What need then to fear the great horse who 
towers 

Approachless and peerless; 
Is not Kirkham's elect, gallant Aberoorn, ours? 

And brown Melos, the fearkss? 



With the glamour of triumphs and deeds of the 

past 

Like a nimbus about him, 
With blood in his veins that can race and can 

last 

Will his subjects now doubt him? 
Away with the thought. Like the shout of the 

storm 

Peals their voices' loud thunder, 
As eager for battle and blood-like in form, 
On strides Carbine "the wonder." 



A flash of red silk, a roar deep and loud, 

Then a rush to the paling; 
"They are off" tossed aloft from a turbulent 
crowd 

Then deep silence prevailing. 
Antasus and Sinecure fighting for place 

As they race to the turning 



WHEN HEROES MEET 75 

Make fiercer and faster the terrible pace 
'Neath a sun that is burning. 

But blood, be it ever so costly, may fail, 

And true hearts may waver, 
The thews of a brave horse will never avail 

In the face of a braver; 
So Sinecure's colours sink low in the ranks 

That till now he was leading, 
And the beauteous Antasus has foam-spotted 
flanks, 

And his hot sides are bleeding. 

"The bay wins," "the chestnut," rings loud 
o^er the stand 

And away o'er the heather, 
As catching Ankeus, they neck and neck land 

In the straight-way together; 
The gold coat of Abercorn gleams in the sun 

"He must win," they are crying, 
But Carbine comes on, with his wondrous run, 

O'er the shaking turf flying. 

Now Chester's great son for the sake of his sire, 

Comes again at the distance, 
And, closing on Carbine, the struggle grows dire 

In its grim, set persistence. 



76 WHEN HEROES MEET 

Withlean necks far stretching, and nostrils on fire, 

Every muscle fierce straining, 
They battle as one horse ; for neither will tire, 

And still neither is gaining. 

Like the roar of the surf that rolls to the shore 

'er the stern rocks mad chiding, 
Rings afar a wild shout: "They'll part them 
no more," 

Though both horsemen are "riding;" 
They come neck to neck, full well each one knows 

'Tis for honour they battle; 
Carbine fails now Abercorn's golden crest 
glows 

As still onward they rattle. 

But bravely the champion answers eacli call, 

Though the chestnut they're hailing, 
When Melos, forgotten till now by them all, 

Dashes up on the railing, 
Beneath Norton he comes, his face set for home, 

Stout and strong as a lion, 
With stride that ne'er falters, his cheeks white 
with foam, 

Now he passes O'Brien. 

And still on he comes, till the chestnut can feel 
His hot nostril beside him 



WHEN HEROES MEET 77 

"Ride, Hales, for your life, bury deep the keen 
steel, 

"For 'the blue and white' ride him!"- 
Still on Melos creeps, as they near the white post 

Half a blanket would hide them; 
A cry rises up from the pale-visaged host, 

"Judge can never divide them." 

No time now to steady; scarce space for a rush; 

Not a sound save the ringing 
Of hoofs and the whistling of whips ; for a hush 

O'er the vast course is clinging. 
So they race to the post, ears back, nostrils red 

When Hales, Norton 's rush stalling, 
Lifts Abercorn past by at most half a head, 

As "dead heat," they are calling. 



HOW THE KING CAME HOME 
(Dedicated to Donald Wallace and Carbine.) 

"THEY'RE away!" rings out from a thousand 
throats ; 

And on through a golden glory 
That glitters like fire on their shining coats, 

Come the kings of turf -land story : 



Come the equine kings o'er the sounding turf, 
'Neath the gleam of silks and satins, 

By the gods ! such a sight would stir a serf, 
Would charm a saint from his matins. 



They pass the stand like a radiant flash, 

These sons of the lords of battle, 
With the fierce, forced pace and the matchless 
dash 

Of a fast Newmarket rattle. 

78 



HOW THE KING CAME HOME 79 

For a princely colt from the Moa-land 
Through the fighting van is treading, 

And anxious hearts on the hill and stand 
Scarcely beat 'twixt hope and dreading. 



Like meteors bright they have all shone out, 
Gatling, Spot, and dark Chaldean; 

Now Enuc's name is the one they shout, 
But too soon they sound his paean ; 



For the turn is reached, and the time draws near 
For which he has watched and waited, 

And the King comes on that they all hold dear, 
The steed unmatched and unmated. 



No need to cry, "Where's the champion now?' 
The cry would be lost in thunder: 

With victory stamped on his dauntless brow, 
On, on sweeps the equine wonder. 

The gallant Correze may come to each call, 
Brave Melos keep homeward reeling; 

Alas for Highborn ! alas for them all ! 
When "Carbine" is skyward pealing. 



80 HOW THE KING CAME HOME 

In their rich, rare robes on the heaving stands 
Fair maids to their feet are springing, 

As they wave him on with their dainty hands 
Whose name o'er the turf is ringing. 

O'er the swaying course up from flat to hill, 
And back from hill to the railing, 

In a mighty roar, now deep, now shrill, 
One name they are madly hailing. 

For out from the surge of the foam-flecked tide, 
With that run as swift as splendid, 

The old hero swings in his faultless stride, 
And all know the fight is ended. 

And so in the track of the setting sun, 
Unconquered, unstained, and peerless, 

Carbine comes home and the great Cup is won 
By the horse beloved and fearless. 



JOHN TAIT 

HORSEMEN, bind a sable token 

On the silks you wear to-day, 
For another link that's broken, 

For a Sportsman passed away; 
For a King who had no fellow, 

When "The Barb" with Ashworth up, 
Bore the boasted black and yellow 

On to conquest, in the Cup. 



Forty years have run their courses 
Since his colours first appeared, 

Half these years his wondrous horses 
Made those colours loved and feared; 

North and South his peerless "cattle" 
Added laurels to his fame: 

Till at last he left the battle- 
Winner of a spotless name. 

F 81 



82 JOHN TAIT 

Flying steeds no more may take him 

Back to scenes and triumphs fled, 
Hoof-beats never more may wake him 

Did they thunder o'er his head; 
Sound at last the veteran slumbers, 

Flag no more for him may drop 
But, when up they hoist the numbers, 

"Honest John's" will be on top. 



ALICE ROBERTSON 

'MiD the flashing of silk and the thunder of feet 

He has gone, as a rider should go, 
To a fate that the truest and bravest must meet, 

Be life's race made a fast one or slow. 
Though no warning bell gave him a chance to 
prepare, 

And death came with a rush in the dip, 
Still I pray that our records may all be as fair 

When the Pale Horse has us at the whip. 



On the track where he always had battled right 
well 

Stout Silvermine's struggles are o'er, 
'Neath the man he had carried so often, he fell, 

And together they sleep evermore. 

83 



84 ALICK ROBERTSON 

Great horse and true rider have gone to the 
shades, 

Other shoulders "the orange" must bear; 
But long may it be ere the memory fades 

Of the gallant, but ill-fated pair. 



I have coupled them thus for they both, in their 
way, 

Were the types of what horsemen hold dear; 
For the man had a record as clear as the day, 

While the horse had a heart without fear. 
And, although it seems folly to pen such a line, 

Still I feel the last race was a win, 
And, in truth, from the back of the brave 
Silvermine, 

That poor Alick, a victor weighed-in. 



GLENLOTH'S CUP 

"NOT started yet! What the deuce can be 
wrong ? 

Does he mean to keep them all day? 
Will they never sound that infernal gong? 

There it goes at last they're away." 



Borne on hoofs of fire, they dash up the straight, 

With a flyer in command; 
But they look in vain for a heavyweight, 

In the ranks of that storm-swept band. 



Camoola falls back in the beaten ruck, 

Swift Malolo 's star has set, 
The colours Chatham is bearing are struck, 

And Correze's sides are wet. 

85 



86 GLENLOTH'S C(7P 

Brave Paris and Theodore rearward sink, 
Portsea goes down in the flood; 

The spurs of the rider of Candour drink 
Deep draughts of his gallant blood. 



Malvolio fights, as a king should fight, 

For his title and his throne; 
But his sides are wet and his quarters white, 

And his nostrils stretched and blown. 



Heaven help "the crack" in a strong run race, 

Who long in the last flight lies, 
When the sand is cutting his sweat-dimmed face, 

And blinding his brave, true eyes. 



They may thunder in vain the top-weight 's name, 
From the hill and the stands below; 

He will come no more with his eyes aflame, 
As he came a year ago. 



Fleet Ronda and Penance now bear the brunt ; 

But their battle soon is o'er, 
For Glenloth shoots like a star to the front, 

And their names are heard no more. 



GLENLOTH'S CUP 87 

On the brown horse conies with a matchless rush, 

Alone on the white-set rails, 
While the Stands and the Hill their clamour 
hush, 

As homeward he swiftly sails. 



Still on he sweeps through the fading light, 

Like a messenger of woe, 

This horse who has shattered the top-weights' 
might 

And laid the favourites low. 



Not a sound is heard as he onward comes, 
In the front of that broken wave, 

For his hoof-falls echo like muffled drums, 
Played over Malvolio's grave. 



Then skyward the layers their hoarse yells fling, 

In the air the hats go up, 
A rank outsider has rescued the ring, 

For Glenloth has won the Cup. 



TARCOOLA'S CUP 

WHY wail, prophet, of what may be? 

Why point, sour seer, to a year ago? 
They lost in the blinding rain, but we 

Tempt Fate in the sunlight's mellow glow. 

Dame Fortune's smile must be ours to-day 
A year we have wilted 'neath her frown. 

When the road is thick with the rich and gay, 
Who'd wait behind in the want-cursed town? 

So smiling dames on the lounges sat 

Who ne 'er might pay for the robes they wore ; 

And men stood thick on the teeming flat 
Who strolled on the radiant lawn of yore. 

No matter if bankers hold their hands, 
No matter if children cry for bread; . 

88 



TARCOOLA'S CUP 89 

Relief may come o'er the level lands, 
And wealth be won by a short half -head. 

So they left the town of want and woe, 
To kneel at the shrine of doubtful ^Chance ; 

And the Devil laughed a deep "Ho! Ho!" 
As the ringmen's music woke the dance. 

They may sigh for stout "Old Jack" in vain, 
That dauntless look on his brave old face; 

But one with the hero's gallant strain 

Now stands in the "Wonder's" vacant place. 

Each stable can back its chosen one; 

The ring may sneer at the three-year-old, 
The public knows he is Mersey's son, 

And Carnage carries the people's gold. 

Amid the glow of the west 'ring day, 
The shimmer of silks a moment lies, 

As the wanton sun-shafts swiftly play 
In front of the watcher's straining eyes. 

Little time to-day for praise or blame, 
Aye, in the space of that deep, dread hush, 

The red flag falls like a bolt of flame, 
And fades in the face of the swift, strong rush. 



90 TARCOOLA'S CUP 

The line is reft, and a broken wave 
Of colour covers the trampled course; 

But backer's faces grow set and grave, 

For clear in front comes the chestnut horse. 

Where the course dips low, the first flight seem 
A moment locked in a fierce embrace ; 

Then white the colours of Carnage gleam, 
While Newman fights for the pride of place. 

Sanfoin is lost Malvolio's crest 
Has sunk for aye in the beaten ruck; 

The sweat is dropping from Vakeel's chest, 
Brave Oxide's colours at last are struck. 

Tossing the gathering foam aside, 
As Glenloth came just a year before, 

The colt comes on with unfailing stride 
The hush is changed to a mighty roar. 

No! there is danger from Newman yet, 
He reaches the, chestnut's heaving flanks, 

Hurrah! though his rider's spurs are wet, 
He fails, and sinks in the beaten ranks. 

Again the white of "St. Albans" leads, 
The race is his to have and to hold; 

A racehorse beating a field of weeds 

Stay! what's that gleam of blue and gold? 



TARCOOLA'S CUP 91 

Keen and swift as an Angel of Death, 
One they recked not has come like a flash; 

Women wax pale, and men catch their breath, 
Whips are at work, and stirrup-irons clash. 

Under his girth the brave heart throbs fast, 
Beats with the courage won from his sire; 

One effort more, supreme, but the last 
Then sinews fail in spite of desire. 

Backward he reels in sight of them all, 
"Carnage!" they cry. The call is in vain. 

Fiercely the whips on reeking sides fall. 

"Carnage!" they shout. He answers again: 

Comes as a Nordenfeldt only can come, 
Shrouded in foam, but scorning defeat; 

Flat, Hill, and Lawn watch pulseless and dumb, 
Hearts beating time to the thundering feet. 

On 'mid a sound that rings like a knell, 
Flashes Tarcoola, the race in his hands; 

Close to the goal he fought for so well, 
Carnage reels beaten in front o the stands. 



OF NO ACCOUNT 

"A FOOL who played with life and limb, 
"Why waste such fulsome grief on him?" 

The bloodless cynic sneers 
"For empty praise, and doubtful pay, 
"This fellow rode his reckless way 

"Then why these wreaths and tears?" 

"Such fools all are," I would reply, 
"Who on the field of battle die 

"By bullet or by sword; 
"For, at the last, a gallant name 
"Enriched with bays of empty fame, 

"Must be their sole reward. 

"Still, let a man but lose his life 
"In fast-run race or hard-fought strife 
"Yet keep his honour bright: 
02 



OF NO ACCOUNT 93 



"This man," I answer each dull clod, 
' ' Has kept the noblest gift of God 
"Unsullied, pure, and white." 



OLD KANGAKOO 

"You want to see the little chap 

Who won and pulled us through 
That steeple you and I went Nap 

On, Jack and Kangaroo? 
You're right, he always had this box, 

A bay with game, lean head 
And longish tail and doubtful hocks; 

Worse luck for me, he's dead." 

'Went wrong? Not he, he never stripped 

Much fitter for a race. 
Came down? Well, yes, I think he slipped 

When cutting out the pace. 
You know he never used to tap 

A rail too hard to crack, 
God only knows what made him rap 

The one that broke his back." 

94 



OLD KANGAROO 95 

' ' Sorry he 's gone ? Jack here can tell : 

I never see them fly 
The cursed fence at which he fell 

Without a moistened eye. 
Knew me? He knew the slightest call 

That I might choose to make. 
A smoke? Let's have it in his stall 

Just for the old boy's sake." 



"Quiet? Why when he was running loose 

The girls could ride him eh! 
Old Phillips coming? Oh, the deuce! 

Pipes out if he's this way. 
Paid for his keep? Just ask old Jack 

How many men he knew 
Whose oats were won on yonder track 

By poor old Kangaroo." 

"Old? Well I never knew his age, 

But when they called him done 
You could have filled a fair sized page 

With races that he'd won. 
Saw him out back beat Hoystead's mare 

At Cobar Copper Mine 
Quite right, he won the double there, 

I think in seventy nine. ' ' 



96 OLD KANGAROO 

"Baulk? No, he didn't know the way. 

Fall? Once, the time he died. 
Jump? Why I'd jump big sticks all day 

On him with both hands tied. 
Heart? Well he always liked a race 

From three to four miles long, 
And did you wait, or make the pace, 

He'd always finish strong." 



''Must go? Well so must I, Good-day! 

I know you'll think it rot, 
But, Sir, his well-remembered neigh 

Still lingers round this spot. 
And often as I pass the door 

On it I turn my light 
For to me as in the days of yore 

Comes Kangaroo's 'Good-night.' " 



A HORSE OF HISTORY 

ON THE DKATH OP LORD ROBERTS* OLD WHITE 
CHARGKR 

NOT from off the field of glory 

That he oft had trod, 
Did the horse of song and story 

Go back to his God. 



Time had bleached his proud crest whiter, 

Dimmed his fiery eye, 
When at last the Arab fighter 

Stretched him out to die. 

Not in fore-front of the battle 

Did he, charging, fall; 
Died he as die pampered cattle, 

In a littered stall. 

G 97 



98 A HORSE OF HISTORY 

But what matter where death met him, 
Where by chance his grave ; 

Men "Bobs" led will not forget him, 
Trusted, tried, and brave. 



Kneeling by his side, his master 
Watched life ebbing fast, 

Till the stall grew wider, vaster, 
Peopled by their past. 



Bugles sounded, headropes tightened, 

Chargers fiercely neighed, 
Fertile plains with war-camps whitened, 

Trumpets shrilly brayed. 



Horse and foot through storm of battle, 

Marching 'neath his star, 
Shouted o'er the cannons' rattle, 

"On to Kandahar!" 



And in front, supreme and peerless 
Lord of this proud Force, 

Roberts rode, beloved and fearless, 
On his small white horse. 



A HORSE OF HISTORY 99 

Thus his litfe of fame and glory 

Rose from out the years, 
And he read the blood-writ story 

Through a mist of tears. 



For this past had no to-morrow, 
And this horse no mate, 

So he turned him in his sorrow 
Slowly to the gate. 



Then his charger's eyeballs hollow 

Blazed with old-time fire, 
For the thought that he must follow 

Filled him with desire. 



Gave new strength to thews pain-shattered, 

Waked life in his bones, 
Till his hoof -beats feebly clattered 

Down the slippery stones. 



Quick his master wheeled to meet him 

In the narrow way, 
And the Arab sought to greet him 

Wirth his old shrill neigh. 



100 A HORSE OF HISTORY 

But the heart no march could steady, 

Sudden ceased to beat, 
And the old horse died ' ' still ready ! ' ' 

At his master's feet. 



PATRON'S CUP 

COMPARE it not with Carbine's Cup 
That marked a climax, this a fall ; 

The nectar we to-day must sup 
Is from a chalice cracked and small. 

The sun that shone on Carbine's crest, 
To-day seems half ashamed to gaze 

Upon a scene that, at its best, 
Is but a dream of royal days. 

Say rather for the glow is yet 
A grand reflection of the years 

Before Australia's cheeks were wet 
With Ruin's ever-present tears. 

For women crowned with glittering hair, 
In radiant robes for ever pass; 

101 



102 PATRON'S CUP 

And maids are thick at Pleasure's fair 
As flowers among November grass. 

Within "the cage" a motley throng 
Still presses round each equine king; 

These be the men who love the song 
That Judah's sons unceasing sing. 

Not for the grace which in him lies, 
Not for his triumphs of the past, 

Is Ruenalf scanned by eager eyes, 
They only wonder: "Can he last?" 

To win aye, yes, to win their pelf, 
For this alone they pay their court; 

Each eager heart beats but for self, 
The while they prate of love of sport. 

And, hustled by the hurrying feet, 
And deafened by the ringmen's din, 

And weary of the men who greet 

Their riders with "D'ye think he'll win? 1 

The gallant horses lightly toss 
Their high-bred heads in calm disdain; 



PATRON'S CUP 103 

They race for glory, sordid loss 
Can never dull their nobler pain. 

Now whisperings dear to maidens cease, 
Within the paddock dies the fray; 

On Hill and Lawns a sudden peace 
And then the eager field's away. 

And sullen still, the sun looks down 
On radiant silks and glist'ning skins, 

While half the land and all the town 
Stand waiting mute, till Ruenalf wins. 

On past the Stand the packed field sweeps, 

And some are beaten even now ; 
And blood through swollen veins fast leaps, 

And lines cut deep on many a brow. 

Along the back the favourite leads; 

But Carnage, false to blood and fame, 
Forgetful, too, of Carbine's deeds, 

Sinks beaten ere they shout his name. 

So on, with many a changeful gleam 
Of colours rising but to fade; 



104 PATRON'S CUP 

Fair as a glimpse of some bright dream, 
And swift and stern as some fierce raid. 



They come with Ruenalf still in front, 
And from afar the cry goes up: 

"The horse that bears the battle's brunt, 
"The people's choice, must win the Cup." 

For, clear of all, and still as death, 
The f av 'rite 's rider heads the flood ; 

What need to waste their pent up breath 
The spurs are drinking Dreamland's blood. 

See, one by one they backward fall 
Before the splendour of his stride; 

His oft-heard name ten thousand call 
Stay ! Devon races to his side. 

Together shining stirrups clash, 

And Moran 's face grows set and white ; 

Then Ruenalf reels, and like a flash 
Sinks beaten, with the post in sight; 

Fades from the struggle, with the prize 
So near, that white-bejewelled hands 



PATRON'S CUP 105 

Arise before his sweat-dimmed eyes, 
As on they wave him from the Stands. 

But let the ringmen sing his doom, 
The beauteous Nada takes his place; 

No time is this for useless gloom; 
Sing, hey! it is a gallant race! 

With Caulfiekl triumphs on his brow, 
And Fielder on his dauntless back 

See, Paris comes ! ' ' He wins it, ' ' now 
Rings upward o'er the trampled track. 

But weight must tell. His rider's skill 
Nor hands, nor patience here avail. 

His run is o'er; for stoutest will 
Must break, when thews and sinews fail. 

Now "Devon wins!" a length ahead, 

A distance only from the goal; 
The rays of victory round him shed 

Their splendour like an aureole. 

Shout not his name; the Cup's not won 
For Dawes through all the fierce, forced ride 



106 PATRON'S CUP 

Has saved his horse for one last run, 
And now he comes to Devon's side. 

Relentless whips flash high in air 

And eager spurs seek foam-flecked skins, 

While close behind, the brave, black mare 
Fights on, 'mid shouts of "Patron wins!" 

Aye, wins, extended, and from foes 

Bight worthy of a hero's steel. 
So, sportsmen, cast aside your woes 

And cheer a racehorse, stout and leal. 



STEEPLECHASE-DAY RHYMES 



THE SPOKT OF KINGS 

THEY call it when the colours glow 

And costly robes sweep o'er the green: 
"The sport of Kings." Perhaps 'tis so, 

For monarch I have never seen ; 
And yet when stubborn rails are struck 

This thought has more than once been mine: 
Such sport would hardly suit the ruck 

Who rule to-day by right divine. 

But this I know, a desp'rate race 

Can charge with life the coldest veins, 

Can flush or pale the fairest face, 
Can fill the watchers' hands with reins: 

107 



108 STEEPLECHASE-DAY RHYMES 

For when enlocked two horses land 
Within the rails, I see unsought 

On trampled lawn and teeming stand 
Full many a bitter finish fought. 

THE HORSEMAN'S CKITICS 

BRAVE sportsmen those, who filled the air 

With howls when beaten men rode in, 
Much they had recked of foul or fair 

Had Power or Fielder chanced to win; 
But those who ride must face the blaze 

Of senseless fault and fulsome fame, 
From fools who know not when to praise 

Or when, in truth, to justly blame. 

When sailing home in front of all, 

My ear has caught a thousand cheers 
From lips that, had I chanced to fall, 

Would damn me with a thousand jeers. 
For he who hopes to gain or hold 

The people's hearts must win alway, 
For he's a god who wins them gold, 

A dastard if they have to pay. 

Faugh! Public smile or public frown 
But takes its note from public luck, 



STEEPLECHASE-DAY RHYMES 109 

The smile for when ''the books go down," 
The frown for when the public's "struck." 

The men they cursed by all the gods 

When Wycombe won the Randwick Plate, 

As loud they'll bless, I'll take the odds, 
When triumph guides their cars of fate 

HOW " LAST KINO " PELL AND " MARMION " WON 

THE sun has urged his west 'ring way 

Till all the pale horizon line 
Awakes to greet the weary day 

With blushes rich as rare old wine. 
From heathery heights a zephyr swells. 

Then comes to breathe in crowded stands, 
A perfume caught in distant dells 

From flow 'rets dear to fern-clad lands. 

A-down the straight where shadows fall, 

The queenly Roby proudly sweepvS 
On feet that as they move, recall 

A hundred wins o'er far-off leaps; 
Then past a sea of eager eyes 

A reefing field in battle sails 
To where in quick succession rise 

The treble's stiff, relentless rails. 

Their colours catch the slanting sun 
As in and out they dauntless spring, 



110 STEEPLECHASE-DAY RHYMES 

A crash and Roby's race is run 
While sailing like a bird on wing. 

Last King goes through against the rail 
As though the field were standing still, 

While twice a thousand shouts that hail 
His triumph, lawn and paddock fill. 

In vain the gallant top-weights strain 

Each quivering nerve in effort dire, 
In vain their coats bear many a stain, 

Their nostrils gleam like caves of fire : 
For Rheece is holding in the van, 

As Last King with his feather-weight 
Sails round the bend and past the tan 

To meet the fence that guards the straight. 

Upon the frowning panels flash 

The glasses held by hope or fear, 
He comes the splintered timbers crash, 

And horse and horseman disappear. 
Dead! Steady Rheece is on his feet 

The horse is rising with a spring 
That lands him fair into his seat, 

His rider bounds upon Last King! 

And as the shaken horse awakes 
In answer to his rider's hands, 



STEEPLECHASE-DAY RHYMES 111 

Again a voiceful tumult breaks 

Across the lawn and o'er the stands: 

For Mason comes, and Hatch is near, 
And Festal answers Regan's call, 

As o'er the shouts on Rheece's ear 
The thunders of the hoof -beats fall. 

One effort more, but one more leap 

If Fate be kind he yet may steal 
A conquest heart like his should reap, 

A triumph worthy horse so leal; 
But sturdy foes, alas for him ! 

Are surely closing in his wake, 
His horse's eyes are dazed and dim, 

His silks are wet with many a flake. 

On, on they come, with faces set, 

Like arrows shot from giant bow, 
Their eager spurs with life-blood wet, 

Their nervous hands held still and low; 
On Rheece they close the paling lies 

Before them as they surge abreast 
As one above the leap they rise 

Then gone is Pestal's chestnut crest. 

Still locked they come, about them peals 
The clangour of a countless crowd, 



112 STEEPLECHASE-DAY RHYMES 

Then, as the weary Last King reels, 
"The Chestnut wins" is echoed loud; 

But as they shout the vet 'ran brings 
Old Marmion with a lightning run 

And victory spreads her golden wings 
O'er gallant struggle bravely won. 



FESTAL 

(Killed V.R.C. Steeplechase, 
9th November, 1889.) 

Broke his neck, poor old horse ! So he finished 
his course 

Where many a brave life has ended. 
Well, his racing is done and his last steeple won, 

For necks may, alas, not be mended. 



There was no one to blame, for the horse was 

as game 

As ever went out in a steeple; 
And the man on his back was the steeplechase 

crack, 
The pet and the pride of the people. 

H 113 



114 FESTAL 

Ah, well ! now he sleeps in the shade of the leaps 
Farewell to a great steeplechaser! 

I am glad that he fell in the front, running well, 
And died like a crack and a racer. 



For 'tis not in his stall, with head turned to the 
wall, 

That "a king over fences" should die; 
It is not on the road, 'neath a taskmaster's goad, 

That a flyer should finish, say I. 



No, whene'er he must go, let the satin's bright 

glow 

And the thunder of fiery hoofs greet him, 
'Tis when bearing the brunt in the battle's grim 

front 
"The pale horse," I take it, should meet him. 



When gay silks are splashed with the foam 

backward dashed, 

And splinters are riven and flying, 
Striding gamely along 'mid a high-mettled 

throng, 
I can picture a brave horse dying. 



FESTAL 115 

I can fancy him sway in the thick of the fray, 
When hoof-beats sharp echoes are waking, 

Still scorning to yield his proud place in the 

field, 
Though his heart, may, in truth, be a-breaking. 



Then, when thews at last fail, and he strikes wall 

or rail, 

As homeward the fighting field rattle, 
They will say of the dead: "Braver never was 

bred, 
"He fell in the front of the battle." 



A DREAM OF THE PAST 

THE vision came as it comes alway, 
With its memories bright and clear, 

On the eve of a dead November day 
In the springtide of every year. 

He dreamt that his timber was sound again 
And his coat like a mirror's face, 

That he felt them plaiting his silken mane 
On the dawn of his last great race. 

Then the trainer came when the lads had gone, 
Felt his muscles with honest pride, 

The while he told of his wonderful run 
To the man who stood by his side. 

' ' He must win, my lad. I have got him fit 
To run for a kingdom," said he, 

"And first past the post means a biggish bit, 
Not only for you but for me." 
n 



A DREAM OF THE PAST 117 

"But it means his all for his owner, Mick, 
And her home to his winsome wife. 

The old horse was never in greater nick, 
You must ride him, man, for your life." 

Again in his dream, he can hear the roar 
Rising up from the hungry throng, 

As plungers and punters still ringward pour 
In the thrall of that siren song. 

He is saddled now, and his owner comes, 

And hardens his heart as he looks, 
For loud as the thunder of demon drums 

Rolls the challenge thrown by the "books." 

"He's wound up to run for a fortune, sir," 
"He's going for one," 's the reply. 

"I know he's well and was never a cur, 
"So I've staked what's left on the die." 

Now the last bell rings and his rider drops 

As light as a bird in his seat, 
When a dainty vision before him stops, 

And his mistress stands at his feet. 

The sweetest and fairest of all was she 
Where stately forms were manifold, 

The Sun-God himself kissed her tenderly, 
And the wind loved her locks of gold. 



118 A DREAM OF THE PAST 

No crown was e'er fashioned of gems so rare, 
Never worn with such queenly grace, 

As the glittering coils of golden hair 
That shone o'er her marvellous face. 

Snow-white was her skin as the new-born foam 
That light on wind-wooed billows lies, 

While the spirit of gladness had its home 
In the depths of her azure eyes. 

A dream to enrapture an artist's sleep, 

Fair was she to her finger tips; 
The radiant roses had cause to weep 

For the priceless red of her lips. 

As she lays her small gloved hand on his rein 

He can tell she is not at rest: 
For the mirthless smile cannot hide the pain 

That is locked in her troubled breast. 

She presses her fresh young lips to his face 
They all called it a woman's whim; 

But the whispered prayer, full of trusting grace : 
"Win, my pet!" was only for him. 

And now, with the speed of light in his dream, 
Through the silence the red flag falls; 

In the sunlight he sees the satins' gleam, 
'Mid the din of a thousand calls. 



A DREAM OF THE PAST 119 

He is lying sixth in a strong run race, 
As they flash past the lawn and hill, 

A ray of relief lights a fair, white face, 
For his rider is sitting still. 

By the river bend he is striding strong, 
Though his nostrils are red and wet, 

While the heaving sides of that shining throng 
Are sullied with blood and sweat. 

Round the turn they swing, and the whips flash 
out, 

As hearts and thews, alike, fail; 
From afar he can hear the full- voiced shout 

As he makes his run on the rail. 

Still onward he comes on his feet of fire, 
Relentless, his crest white with foam, 

In his heart the blaze of a fierce desire, 
In front, with his face set for home. 

Behind him the surge and the dust of the fray, 

Around him the roar of a host, 
Victor of Victors, the King of his day 

He shoots like a star past the post. 

Stands, Hill, and Paddock the champion greet, 

With his name the air is riven; 
But his heaving heart gives no answering beat 

'Tis not for them he has striven. 



120 A DREAM OF THE PAST 

They strew with their roses the path he treads; 

They hail him a hero confessed; 
He heeds them not as he looks o'er their heads 

For the face that he loves the best. 

To his side she flits, her slim arched feet 
Scarcely touching the verdant lawn; 

Her eyes alight with a radiance sweet, 
Such as flushes the first glad dawn. 

And there in the sight of them all she stands 

'Neath her halo of golden hair, 
With his foam-dipped reins in her dainty hands, 

Glad and flushed and divinely fair. 

She gives him, in front of their smiling ranks. 
What an angel might sigh to miss, 

For her full red lips breathe their tender thanks 
In the fragrant guise of a kiss. 

So ended the vision that comes alway, 
With its memories bright and clear, 

On the eve of a dead November day 
In the springtide of every year. 

A King among Kings, no more he may thrill 
The Stands with that rush all unmatched, 

His name on the lisps of layers is still, 
His number for aye has been scratched. 



A DREAM OF THE PAST 121 

His rider may don the colours no more 
He, too, has long finished life's course; 

But perchance, on that dim and mystical shore 
He's waiting to greet the old horse. 

The beautiful lips that kiss him in dreams 
For years have been pulseless and cold ; 

The head that once rivalled the sunlight's beams 
Is at rest 'neath the sunless mould. 

So he bides his time till the last bell rings, 

Broken down, forgotten by most; 
Till the clerk of Death on his white horse brings 

The summons to go to the Post. 

And I somehow feel when he 's got his weight 
On the shore of the tideless main, 

He w r ill meet at the pearl-set paddock gate 
His beautiful mistress again. 



WHEN THE LAST BELL RINGS 

HAVE you ever watched the people 
Who are gathered on the sward, 

For some Cup or famous Steeple ? . 
What an anxious, sordid horde 
Cluster around each equine lord 

When the last bell rings! 

What a mad, discordant chorus 
Floats above the trampled way, 

Harsh, as though Hell's roof were porous, 
And the demons, as they play, 
Shouted "Six-to-one I'll lay!" 

As the last bell rings. 

How the ringmen deftly juggle 

With the surging, fatuous crowd, 
In that space before the struggle 
122 



WHEN THE LAST BELL RINGS 123 

When they weave the fav 'rite's shroud, 
'Mid their clamour long and loud, 
As the last bell rings. 

What a hoisting into saddles 
And a gathering of reins; 

As each horseman lightly straddles 
Glossy skin and net-like veins, 
All undimmed with foam, or stains, 

When the last bell rings. 

Watching them, I often wonder, 

As they step towards the gate 
(Through the blatant Ring's hoarse thunder) 

Do they deem that in the straight, 

Wealth and ruin some await, 
When the last bell rings? 

Yet it matters not, for horses 

Have no thought of sordid sin, 
They know nought of crooked courses. 

Jockeys hold their fleetness in, 

Trainers see they cannot win, 
When the last bell rings. 

Plungers, keen on getting level, 

On some ' ' wonder ' ' pile their gold ; 
Yet the layers fairly revel, 



124 WHEN THE LAST BELL RINGS 

For the "wonder" has been sold, 
And the jockey will be told 
When the last bell rings. 

If you want a view of Hades 
With its sin, but not its heat, 

Graced by brass band, bars, and ladies, 
And a Governor and suite, 
Randwick should be hard to beat 

When the last bell rings. 



TO MY MOTHER 

In token of a tender thought, 
In memory of a faith divine^ 

In answer to a love urib ought, 
1 proffer the&c, sweet Mother mine. 



MY QUEEN 

I WOULD that I had met with thee, my Queen ! 

Back in the springtime years that now have 

fled, 

For then, perchance, my worship might have 
been 

A crown more worthy of thy peerless head. 
I would that I might live my life again 

With thy sweet lips to counsel and to guide, 
And then the past would not be void and vain, 

And shadowed with regrets I fain would hide. 



I would for thee that I could now recall 
Each pure emotion and each true heart-beat, 

That I might humbly take and lay them all, 
As tokens of my love, about thy feet 

Still, gentle mistress, though my gifts must be 

127 



128 MY QUEEN 

Unworthy of the brightness of thy shrine, 
My soul, my very life belongs to thee, 
And all my future days and hours are thine. 



The message of thy pure soul never dies, 

But clear and sweet as some white angel's song 
Floating from out the gates of Paradise, 

Whispers, "Forget the past and all its wrong." 
So, as a sinner seeking grace, I pray 

Give me, pure spirit ! in thy life a part, 
That cleansed by thy strong love I may some day 

Prove worthy of thee, Queen of my heart ! 



HAND clasped in hand, we each to each belong, 
And lulled in dreams, scarce note how seasons 
run. 

Spring still is ours, but youth's sad evensong 
Some day must sure be sung, beloved one ! 

Some day the summer suns, now warm and 

bright, 

Will sink o'er heights we may be loth to climb. 
Some day bright eyes will lose their lustrous 

light, 

And brown locks wear the silver crown of 
time. 

Some day our little ones will wander far, 
For babes like birds from parent nests will 
fly, 

I 129 



130 HAND CLASPED IN HAND 

And, as with us, so they will find a star, 
And go to dwell within it bye-and-bye. 



Then we will be once more as when we wed, 
Alone upon the face of this wide world, 

Save that the days of youth will all be dead, 
And love's deep mysteries all at last unfurled. 



Then, from the sacred garners of the years, 
Love will bring forth each tender thought 
they hold, 

To feed our hungry hearts, and dry our tears 
With the sweet incense of the days of old. 



For this is truth: no gentle word is vain, 
No kiss is lost if pure its motive be, 

So, Love, each dear, dead day will live again 
To be a memory sweet for you and me. 



WHEN SHADOWS FALL 

WHEN shadows gather round our pathway, sweet, 
Remember, lest your spirit faint and fail, 

How out beyond where sky and forest meet, 
After long quest we found "the Holy Grail." 



For far behind yon chain of mountain heights 
The f ronded pines mark where at last we met ; 

Long leagues remote from gleam of harbour 

lights, 
There lies a land that we may not forget. 



Locked in the woodland's heart, safe hid for aye, 
Is every promise, kept or broken now, 

For only stately forest kings stood nigh, 
Dumb witnesses to each impassion 'd vow. 

131 



132 WHEN SHADOWS FALL 

Behind us lies the path that we have trod 

From that lone spot to where, to-night, we 

stand, 

And no one knows save you and I and God, 
The life that we have brought from that far 
land. 

But we two know that He, who knows all things, 
Has given more than Earth can take away. 

How Love has shielded us with her white wings, 
From all the heat and burden of the day. 


And so it matters not where Fate may guide 

Our feet so long as we be not apart: 
For, though the world's highway be long and 

wide, 
We are as one upon its face, dear heart! 



THE DREAM MAIDEN 

DREAM maiden, watching wrapt and still 
The sun go down 'mid seas of fire, 

Clothing each cloud and western hill 
In robes more rare than those of Tyre. 

Hurling red spears of living light, 
And swords of flashing flame on high ; 

As if in challenge to the night, 
Creeping across the drowsy sky. 

Tell me, does memory ever flow 
Back through the corridors of time; 

Till 'mid the radiant afterglow 
You see old Egypt in her prime. 

With temples stretching mile on mile, 
And fleets, with silken sails unfurled, 

133 



134 THE DREAM MAIDEN 

Floating upon a fruitful Nile, 

Fed by the commerce of the world. 



I know that age is of the past ; 

Far hast thou travelled since those days ; 
For that bright life has been recast, 

By time, and change of thought and ways. 



Still, when I see you stand and dream, 
My thoughts, unbidden, backward run 

To where, beside a mighty stream, 

Such maidens worshipped such a sun. 



MY GARDEN OF DREAMS 

IN dreams I often chance to see 

A garden set with stately trees, 
Where roses, hedged with rosemary, 

Like islands lie 'mid scented seas. 
And ever in that garden old 

I kiss a lady's jewell'd hand, 
'Mid fragments of a story told, 

Which I but dimly understand. 



But when I wake I vainly seek 

In memory's cells to find the key 
To those sweet words she nightly speaks, 

When walking hand in hand with me. 
Still I believe this lady fair 

Who reigns within that garden old, 
Whose astral hours I sometimes share, 

Will yet the mystic tale unfold. 

135 



REINCARNATION 

I DO not know when first we met or parted, 
In what dim corridor of Time befell 

The fateful hour that left me broken hearted, 
In what sweet tongue you breathed your last 
farewell. 



I do not know how many worlds I've travelled, 
How many aeons I have stood alone, 

But love at last all mystery has unravelled, 
And now once more I know you for my own. 



We may have loved in days of Grecian glory, 
We may have died beside the templed Nile: 

What matters now the sequence of our story, 
Since we have met who parted were awhile. 

136 



REINCARNATION 137 

Child of the dawning, once again begotten, 
Come back to me from out the golden past, 

Deep in your eyes I read naught is forgotten, 
Rose of the World, I kiss your lips at last. 



THE PATHWAY OF THE SOUL 

THIS life is but a chapter in a story, 
A minor phase in an omniscient plan, 

A fleeting prelude to the changeless glory 
That waits the coming of the perfect man. 

And this is sure : no earth-conceived disaster 
Hath power immortal souls to curb or mar; 

For each of its own destiny is master, 
And each will reach its self-appointed star. 

So waste not time or force on futile weeping; 

Remember that your present is your own, 
That if a scanty harvest you are reaping, 

'Tis but the just reward of what you've sown. 

Remember, too, if shining through life's sadness. 
Glow rosy gleams of love's own tender rays, 

These are the bright reflections of the gladness 
You shed on other lives in other days. 

138 



THE PATHWAY OF THE SOUL 139 

For thus thy scales with good and ill are 
weighted, 

And so their beam will ever rise and fall; 
For as thy soul to each in turn is mated, 

So God will justly add or debit all. 

Be not discouraged if the way seem lonely, 
If heavy grows the dull and daily load ; 

Remember at its worst, that life is only 
A stage upon an ever-changing road. 

For this is true: the lord of broad dominions, 
Who doth misuse his day of pomp and power, 

Will be e'en as the least of all his minions, 
When he returns to face his judgment hour. 

While she whose path is set in by-ways lowly, 
Is free to rise above material things, 

Until she burst the sordid shackles wholly, 
That bind the upward flight of her white wings. 

So trouble not your soul is surely breaking 
The fetters it has forged in lives before; 

And pain is but the symbol of forsaking 
False idols that will hold it bound no more. 



BY A BEDSIDE 

Close to your mother's breast 
Sleep, baby, while you may; 

There is no purer rest 
On all life's thorny way. 

Nestle your cherub face 
Close to her loving side; 

There is no safer place 
For you, whate'er betide. 

Never of care a line, 
Never a thought of woe : 

I would that, baby mine, 
It could be ever so. 

I would that loving eyes 

Ever could guard your sleep ; 

When summer suns arise, 

When winter's sad skies weep. 

140 



BY A BEDSIDE 141 

But seasons move apace, 

Glad baby days must pass; 
Near draws the weary race 

That you must run, my lass. 

We two may see you start, 

We two may counsel lend, 
We three will have to part 

Long ere the journey's end. 

Locks must, alas ! grow grey ; 

And some day you and I 
Will have, my child, to say 

That sad and long good-bye. 

Then should the way be lone 
And hard beneath your feet, 

This I would hope, my own 
That Love and you may meet. 

And when your knight draws near 
God send his shield be white; 

God send he hold you dear 
Poor little winsome mite. 

Then when Love's sails unfurl, 

This I would have you be: 
True as your mother, girl, 

Has ever been to me. 



TO MARJORY 

I CANNOT tell you where the path may lead 

Just entered by your feet: 
But if aright your fresh young heart I read, 

It will be pure and sweet. 

Judge not at all : do no soul any wrong : 

Be kind to each dumb friend 
Then all your life will be one tender song, 
Whate'er the gods may send. 



142 



BABY MINE 

ALL things are bright to you, baby mine; 

For the world is very fair and no echo of 

despair 
Comes to fill your heart with care, baby mine. 



All days are glad to you, baby mine; 

And the wind that idly weaves fairy figures 

in the leaves, 
Sings a song that never 'grieves, baby mime. 



The world is young to you, baby mine, 

Where the grass is ever green, and the sad "it 

might have been" 
Has no sense for you I ween, baby mine. 

143 



144 BABY MINE 

All lips have smiles for you, baby mine; 
For earth's sadness or its gloom there is 

neither place nor room, 
When a life has yet to bloom, baby mine. 



Be this my prayer for you, baby mine, 

God grant it may he so as the seasons come 

and go 
That you sorrow ne'er may know, baby mine. 



May the world you look on now, baby mine, 
From your tender eyes of blue, be forever 

pure and true, 
Kind and gentle unto you, baby mime. 



LIEUTENANT WHITE 

(1st (6th) Imperial Bushmen. Killed at 
Wonder -fontein, South Africa, 
September, 1900; aged 22.) 

WITH the dawn still red in youth's radiant sky 
And the hours of hope's day unspent, 

You died, comrade mine, as we all must die, 
Be we striplings or grey-beards bent, 

For the sabre of Death, when he strikes, bites 
deep, 

And the Sower of seed will his harvest reap. 



So the coward dies on his guarded bed 
Though he crieth "not yet, not yet," 

And the miser his sordid robe must shed 
When the last of his suns has set; 

J 145 



146 LIEUTENANT WHITE 

For the Angel of Death laughs at fear and gold 
And the Keaper reaps both the young and the 
old. 

Thus the sluggard dies on his couch of down, 
For the blade never used will rust, 

And the proudest king and the meanest clown 
Must return to a common dust. 

For the sword of the Lord spares not birth nor 
type 

When He counts His harvest for reaping is ripe. 

So knowing this well, when your summons came 
To leave us and march with the rest, 

What reason had I to cavil or blame 
If God chose our bravest and best. 

For the hosts of the Lord are steadfast and 
strong 

And the pick of our squadrons to Him belong. 

And so, when the veldt was ablaze with strife, 
When each hour saw a brave heart go, 

For your country you gave your gallant life 
With many a patriot foe. 

And together to-day, sitting side by side, 

In the ranks of a nobler army you ride. 



LIEUTENANT WHITE 147 

For, soldier and brother of strenuous days, 

Glad heart, ever kindly and leal, 
By death you have won life's immortal bays 

Where stilled is the clashing of steel, 
For the Lord laid His sword on your brave young 

soul 
And wrote your name on his white-knight roll. 



IN MEMORY OF 

IZZIE SPRING 

NOT 'mid the sunshine of thy native land, 
But 'neath the sullen gloom of alien skies, 

From off the ivory keys Death took thy hands 
And closed life's score before thine eager eyes. 

We are the poorer since you went to dwell 
With all the lords of song set free from pain. 

Lover of strong pure chords, a long farewell 
Until the Master send you back again! 



148 



THE QUEEN OF LOVE 

"In Venus we gaze upon a world, which, 

as a world, has run its course she 

is old and wrinkled and dead." 

Percival Lowell. 

THE Queen of Love is dead and all these years, 
Fierce throbs of passion, countless cries of 

pain, 
A thousand whisperings of maiden fears, 

Have floated through the star-lit nights in 
vain. 

Her lord 's hot breath still plays upon her cheeks, 
Still ardently he proffers love's bequests; 

But all the quick pulsations passion seeks 
Have long been banished from her barren 
breasts. 

149 



150 THE QUEEN OF LOVE 

Planet of Love ! still turning to the sun, 

The face he wooed still flushed with primal 
bloom 

How many [eons have their courses run 

Since life and love died in thy frozen womb ? 

Who bade thy sensuous seasons pass away, 
And all thy fair fecundity run dry? 

How came it that thou knowest not night nor 

day, 
Nor ocean's song, nor dawn's empurpled sky? 



What Jove-like wrong set thy full lips to stone? 

What vast betrayal changed warm blood to 

snow? 
Dead virgin! sleeping in yon starry zone, 

Thy myriad worshippers may never know. 

What matter if the yellow hues of time 
Have killed the beauty in thy queenly face ? 

What matter if the splendour of thy prime 
Was never known to one of Adam 's race ? 



Floating in upper air thy body lies 
Unlit by flame of passion or desire 



THE QUEEN OF LOVE 151 

But still the spark divine which never dies, 
Sheds o'er the world its calm, eternal fire. 

Fair planet we have worshipped from afar 
As type of earth-born passion, thou art dead; 

But, night by night, thy spirit-perished star 
Shines with eternal splendour overhead. 

Burnt out and cold thine eyes no longer glow 
In answer to that Lord who reigns above 

But, purer far, there shines on us below 

Thine after-glory, deathless Queen of Love! 



BUT yesterday a Queen, her tresses bound 
With diadem of rich barbaric gold; 

To-day the bond slave of a churlish hound, 
A spoil of war, a chattel bought and sold. 

Stung by his hungry lash she quivering stands, 
Her marble bosom flushed with pain and 

shame, 
"Whose name had power to stir the Northern 

bands, 
As wind has power to wake the sleeping flame. 

One glance she casts where Tiber's yellow flood 

Flows on its way to join the summer sea ; 
And through her veins hot pours the dauntless 

blood 

One plunge beneath its waves and she were 
free. 

152 



THE SLAVE'S DANCING LESSON 153 

But he has read her thought his cruel eyes 
Gleam like a tiger's in the humid light, 

Aloft his knotted whip like lightning flies 
To fall upon her shoulders bare and white. 

Skyward the measured music, sensuous, floats; 

Her master slowly sways his leathern scourge ; 
Her feet move nimbly to the mocking notes 

She dances in despair to Freedom's dirge. 

Around her, like a fleece of sunlit cloud 
That may not hide the roseate light it dims, 

Her vestment clings as though it loved to shroud 
The mellow glory of her shapely limbs. 

So on she dances 'mid the sultry heat, 
Till o'er her brow the crystal gems arise, 

And laggard grow the white, arched, weary feet, 
As day upon the Tiber droops and dies. 

This trafficker in flesh well knows his trade; 

Can she but dance she is a mine untold ; 
His patrons love to gaze upon a maid 

Whose form is cast in such heroic mould. 

Content, he gloats upon her worth, until 
Shame rushes o'er her like a crimson wave. 

But what of that, his eyes may drink their fill ; 
He is a Roman; she a heathen slave. 



154 THE SLAVE'S DANCING LESSON 

At last she halts and wraps her yellow hair 
About her face ; and, scowling on his prey, 

Her master lifts his goad, to find despair 
Has killed his slave and left a queen at bay. 

For at him now the dancer fiercely springs, 
Once more a daughter of the Northern lands, 

And with the spirit won from Saxon kings 
Plucks her dishonour from his clownish hands. 

Full on his face she strikes one nervous blow ; 

Then, while his eyes are blind with rage and 

pain, 
She leaps into the flood that rolls below, 

And, clasped to Tiber's breast, is free again. 



THE LADY NICOTINE 

A FRIEND of mine, not long in town, 
A sentimental soul named Brown 

Said: "Come with me, old boy, 
A treasure I have chanced to find, 
A nymph with tresses unconfined 

And face too fair to cloy." 

We hurried past the temples, where 
Tall Hebes with peroxide hair 

The thirsty "Johnnies" greet. 
He dragged me past the pantomime 
Where through a tale in dreadful rhyme, 

Flashed high the ballet's feet. 

In vain I begged him call a halt, 
Suggested spirits, wine, or malt 
Declared my throat was dry 

156 



166 THE LADY NICOTINE 

As any kiln e'er fired, 
That walking made me very tired 
He only made reply: 

"She is no Goddess of the bar, 
Nor yet a well-upholstered star 

To whom I bow the knee; 
Nor yet a dame who sits behind 
A pair of horses, to my mind 

Far better bred than she." 

Then straightway dived into a shop 
Where one might get a doubtful crop 

For sixpence or a shave 
And where to baneful cigarette, 
"Dunlop," and "Eagle," and "You Bet" 

The gas a weird light gave. 

A girl behind the counter stood, 
A dream of ideal maidenhood, 

Evolved from Art's own womb; 
Burne-Jones would give the world a face 
To witch it, could he only grace 

His canvas with such bloom. 

Brown bought some beastly, bad cigars, 
The while her eyes like steadfast stars 
Shone o'er her milk-white skin, 



THE LADY NICOTINE 157 

Gold paled beside her wondrous hair; 
To doubt her soul was not as fair 
Would be, methought, a sin. 

Rose-red the lines of her sweet mouth, 
Rose-red as sunlight in the South 

Her lips full, curved lines ; 
And peeping through, her even teeth 
Gleamed like a row of pearls beneath, 

As snow in sunlight shines. 

Why she ite born to peddle pipes 

To men who dub their 'kerchiefs "wipes," 

I don't profess to say; 
Nor why it is that women sit 
In carriages, who are more fit 

Her humble part to play. 

But this I feel, that weary feet 

Go lighter down that old-time street 

For sight of her its Queen, 
And many a smoker in life's crowd 
Sees in the white tobacco cloud 

The Lady Nicotine. 



LOVE'S MYSTERY 

TELL me, poor mem 'ry-haunted ghosts, 

Since time began, 

Has any man 

Or woman solved Love's mystery? 
Has saint, or sinner, seer, or fool 

So sure become, 

That he could plumb 
Her depths, or write her history? 



She is a radical who knows 

No caste-built bars ; 

Her eyes are stars 

That pierce with light the darkest clouds. 
Within her heart strange gods abide, 

Her feet are fleet, 

Her lips are sweet, 
Her scented robes are dead souls' shrouds. 

168 



LOVE'S MYSTERY 159 

All compacts, sacred or profane, 

She laughs to scorn; 

When she is born 
All other children droop and die 
Starved by her fierce insatiate greed. 

Few count the cost 

Of honour lost, 
When in her rounded arms they lie. 



Kings have stepped from their golden thrones 

At her command; 

And sea and land 
Have rifled been by sword and fire 
To gratify her boundless hate. 

Brave men have died 

And saints have lied 
To feed the whim of her desire. 



But she has nobler spoil than this, 

For gentle souls 

Have paid grim tolls 
Of pain, lest man should suffer wrong; 
Dead lives for her have bloomed again, 

And hearts endure, 

And men keep pure, 
By reason of her tender song. 



160 LOVE'S MYSTERY 

So, queen supreme, she rules and reigns 

O'er lord and slave, 

God's man and knave: 
Ard some she ruthless lures ashore 
With siren song, to see them sink 

In shifting sands: 

With steadfast hands 
She others guide for evermore. 

I know not if in Heav'n or Hell, 

From snake or dove, 

This queen called Love 
Was first evolved, to fire life's wine 
With madness or with godlike dreams; 

Nor do I care 

So that I share 
With her one deathless hour divine. 



TO A MUSICIAN 

LOVER of symphonies and rippling songs 

That only supple hand and tender heart can 
wake, 

A noble heritage to yon belongs, 

"Who love all music for its own sweet sake. 

So, on life's keys, with sure and steadfast hand, 
Strike clear and splendid chords and mean- 
ness must depart. 

For in your art you hold the magic wand 
To stir the great and good in every heart. 



161 



EVE 

ON thy dishonoured tomb we lay all sorrow, 
Each sin that saint and savage has defiled; 

And yet perchance in some more just to-morrow 
Thou wilt be blessed alike by seer and child. 

For all alone in that primaeval garden 

You met life's deepest problem face to face, 

And I at least have nothing now to pardon 
The woman who made human all my race. 

I often wonder hadst thou been contented 

To browse like some sleek doe, obedient, mute, 

Waking and resting 'mid the sensuous, scented 
Perfumes of beauteous Eden's flowers and 
fruit ; 

The mate and plaything of a loutish master, 
Too weak himself to lift thy soul at all 

162 



EVE 163 

Would not obedience have presaged disaster 
For man, far grosser than thy so-called " fall" ? 

Would not a life like this have made for madness, 
Hadst thou not eaten of the gracious tree 

That gave thee knowledge, if it taught thee 

sadness ; 
That slew thy ignorance, but set thee free? 

Believing that it would, and that no other 
Pathway led upward out of Eden's night, 

I thank thee from my soul, world-slandered 

mother, 
Thou left soft sloth in search of pain-won light. 

Within my heart no sense of anger lingers 

Because you listened to the serpent's voice, 
And plucked from off the tree with trembling 

fingers 

The fruit that gave your race the right of 
choice. 

Fair captive bound by Eden's narrow portals, 
First type of sweet enquiring womanhood, 

Surely 'twas better for all unborn mortals 
That thou shouldst ope the gates of 111 and 
Good, 

Kl 



164 EVE 

Than to have lived thy life for ever sleeping 
Beneath the shade of trees thou didst not plant, 

The while thy dull-brained mate was idly keeping 
His lonely kingship over ass and ant. 

Dear mother Eve, what if we plough and harrow 
And wet with blood and sweat the fields of 
God, 

What if with weary bones and melting marrow 
We pierce the hills and rape the virgin sod! 

What if false chords of pain lie in our laughter 
And love gives untimed birth to brutish hate, 

What if to-day we feast, and ever after 

Sit with the beggars at some rich man 's gate ! 

At least our brains and thews grow strong with 
striving, 

If deep we sink we, too, may conquer heights ; 
And be we driven or the world a-driving, 

Failure can brace, if power has its delights. 

But even if love flies and friendships shatter, 
And gold and power and even health take 

wing, 
With knowledge still our own what does it 

matter 
Of good and evil we are still the King ! 



EVE 165 



For now we know that what is best lies hidden 
Within the cells of every human brain 

That what to you in Eden was forbidden 
No son of man to-day need ask in vain. 



Dear Eve, it seems to me the God who tended 
That lotus land where you were wont to dwell 

Forbade one fruit because he full intended 
That you should eat, knowing your sex so well ! 



ETERNAL YOUTH 

SUPPLE in soul and body, brave she leaps 
Naked and unafraid into life's ring. 

Hid in her glowing heart the future sleeps ; 
Into her eager ears the fairies sing. 

She is a maiden innocent of shame 

As any unchurched soft-eyed forest faun : 

Love is her sword, Eternal Youth her name, 
Faith is her shield, her symbol is the Dawn. 

Once in the days that now are past recall 
Each one of us has known her joyous face, 

And she is still a memory to us all 

If we have lost her gladness and her grace. 

For, one by one, from out the gates of day 
We leapt like her into the world of strife, 

A world which daily takes our youth away 
And leaves to us instead the husks of life ; 

166 



ETERNAL YOUTH 167 

Until by custom staled, by fears confined, 

Our souls grow cold ; slow beats each eager 
heart ; 

And slaves at last to reason and to mind, 
We scarcely see our godlike youth depart 

And so we let her go, that we may win 
Gross mistresses of gold with feet of clay, 

Steeping our starving souls in sordid sin 
That we may be the lords of such as they. 

Or, tempted by the dream of pomp and power, 
We offer her to feed their furious lust, 

To win at most the triumph of an hour 
That even as we grasp it, turns to dust. 

Then, wise too late, we seek her for a bride, 
Seeing at last that life is void and vain 

Without the youth we madly thrust aside 
Which now for us, can never bloom again. 

Hope of the world, alike its salt, and song 
Queen of the future, lodestar of to-day, 

No man can do himself a deadlier wrong 

Than when he casts your radiant robe away ! 

So, gracious God, because I want and prize 
All things that owe their birth andlife toThee 

The faith of friends, the love in women's eyes 
The light that kisses sky and shore and sea; 



168 ETERNAL YOUTH 

I ask not place, or power, or shining gold, 
Nor any kingship built on human tears, 

I only ask a heart that grows not cold, 

A soul that keeps its youth through all the 
years. 

For I believe that be he young or old 

As men count time, this still remains a truth 

That he who hopes the world to have and hold 
Murct tread Life's pathway with Eternal Youth. 



GOD GIVETH SLEEP 

THIS life is but an act, little girl, 
In a very wondrous play, be it stupid, sad, or 

gay; 
So laugh and go your way, little girl. 

Don't live beyond to-day, little girl, 
For fancies often fade, and ambition's but a jade, 
Dressed in rags or sham brocade, little girl. 

Don't look behind to-day, little girl, 
For the past is but the grave of traditions that 

enslave, 
And mem'ry is oft a knave, little girl. 

But the birds and beasts are true, little girl, 
For the love light never dies in their wistful 

faithful eyes, 
And in them wisdom lies, little girl 

169 



170 GOD GIVETH SLEEP 

Keep close to Nature's heart, little girl, 
And you'll find that she will send many a brave 

and tender friend, 
Who will love you till the end, little girl. 

So take life as it comes, little girl, 
Be the drama grand or cheap ; if the actors laugh 

or weep, 
For at the worst 'God giveth sleep, little girl. 



Websdale, Shoosmith & Co., Printers, Sydney. 



July, 1908. 

SELECTED LIST OF BOOKS 

PUBLISHED BY 

ANGUS & ROBERTSON, 

LIMITED, 

PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY 

89 CA8TLEREAGH STREET, SYDNEY 

London : The Australian Book Company, 21 Warwick Lane, E.G. 

THE INFERNO OF DANTE ALIGHIERI. 

Literally translated into English verse in the 
measure of the original, by the Right Hon. 
Sir SAMUEL WALKER GRIFFITH, G.C.M.G., 
M.A., Chief Justice of the High Court of 
Australia. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 6s. (post 
free 6s. 5d.). 

DAILY TELEGRAPH: "The translation is specially valuable for 
the clearness with which it brings out the whole configuration 
of the Inferno, enabling the attentive reader to follow out the 
ground-plan, so to speak, of each of the nine circles, and to 
appreciate the immensity of Dante's conception." 

THE ARGUS: "The Chief Justice has done a remarkable and 
valuable piece of work, and has earned the gratitude, not merely 
of the small though, we may hope, the ever-widening circle of 
English-speaking students of Dante, but of all who love poetry." 
THE AGE : ' ' He has preserved the metrical structure of the 
poem . . . presenting us with the more striking charac- 
teristics of the author's style, its conciseness, its simplicity, its 
naturalness, its gravity, dignity, and directness. ' ' 



THE AUSTRALIAN AGRICULTURAL COMPANY, 
1824-1875. 

By JESSE GREGSON, General Superintendent for 
the Company, 1876-1905. Crown 8vo., cloth 
gilt, 6s. (post free 6s. 6d.). 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "This is an important little con- 
tribution to colonial history. A full account is given of the 
formation of the Company, the first settlement, the early vicissi- 
tudes, the difficulties with the coal-miners at Newcastle, the 
struggle to set the wheat and wool industries on a firm basis, 
and so on." 

1 



THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER, 
AND OTHER VERSES. 

By A. B. PATERSON. Thirty-eighth thousand. 
With photogravure portrait and vignette 
title. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. 
(post free 5s. 5d.}. 

THE LITERAEY YEAR BOOK: "The immediate success of this 
book of bush ballads is without parallel in Colonial literary 
annals, nor can any living English or American poet boast so 
wide a public, always excepting Mr. fiudyard Kipling." 

SPECTATOR: "These lines have the true lyrical cry in them. 
Eloquent and ardent verses. ' ' 

ATHEX^EUM : "Swinging, rattling ballads of ready humour, 
ready pathos, and crowding adventure. . . . Stirring and 
entertaining ballads about great rides, in which the lines gallop 
like the very hoofs of the horses." 

THE TIMES: "At his best he compares not unfavourably with 
the author of 'Barrack-Room Ballads.' " 

Mr. A. PATCHETT MARTIN, in LITERATURE (London): "In 
my opinion, it is the absolutely un-English, thoroughly Aus- 
tralian style and character of these new bush bards which has 
given them such immediate popularity, such wide vogue, among 
all classes of the rising native generation. ' ' 

WESTMINSTER GAZETTE: "Australia has produced in Mr. A. 
B. Paterson a national poet whose bush ballads are as distinc- 
tively characteristic of the country as Burns 'a poetry is charac- 
teristic of Scotland." 

THE SCOTSMAN: "A book like this ... is worth a dozen 
of the aspiring, idealistic sort, since it has a deal of rough 
laughter and a dash of real tears in its composition." 

GLASGOW HERALD: "These ballads . . . are full of such 
go that the mere reading of them makes the blood tingle. . . . 
But there are other things in Mr. Paterson 's book besides mere 
racing and chasing, and each piece bears the mark of special 
local knowledge, feeling, and colour. The poet has also a note 
of pathos, which is always wholesome." 

LITERARY WORLD: "He gallops along with a by no means 
doubtful music, shouting his vigorous songs as he rides in pur- 
suit of wild bush horses, constraining us to listen and applaud 
by dint of his manly tones and capital subjects. . . . We 
turn to Mr. Paterson 's roaring muse with instantaneous grati- 
tude. ' ' 

London: Macmillan and Co., Limited. 



RIO GRANDE'S LAST RACE, AND OTHER VERSES. 

By A. B. PATERSON. Eighth thousand. Crown 
8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. (post free 5s. 5d.}. 

SPECTATOR: "There is no mistaking the vigour of Mr. Pater- 
son's verse; there is no difficulty in feeling the strong human 
interest which moves in it." 

DAILY MAIL: "Every way worthy of the man who ranks with 
the first of Australian poets." 

SCOTSMAN: "At once naturalistic and imaginative, and racy 
without being slangy, the poems have always a strong human 
interest of every-day life to keep them going. They make a 
book which should give an equal pleasure to simple and to 
fastidious readers." 

BOOKMAN: "Now and again a deeper theme, like an echo 
from the older, more experienced land, leads him to more serious 
singing, and proves that real poetry is, after all, universal. It 
is a hearty book. ' ' 

DAILY CHRONICLE: "Mr. Paterson has powerful and varied 
sympathies, coupled with a genuine lyrical impulse, and some 
skill, which makes his attempts always attractive and usually 
successful. ' ' 

GLASGOW HERALD: "These are all entertaining, their rough 
and ready wit and virility of expression making them highly 
acceptable, while the dash of satire gives point to the humour." 

BRITISH AUSTRALASIAN: "He catches the bush in its most 
joyous moments, and writes of it with the simple charm of an 
unaffected lover." 

THE TIMES: "Will be welcome to that too select class at 
home who follow the Australian endeavour to utter a fresh and 
genuine poetic voice." 

MANCHESTER COURIER: "Mr. Paterson now proves beyond 
question that Australia has produced at least one singer who 
can voice in truest poetry the aspirations and experiences 
peculiar to the Commonwealth, and who is to be ranked with the 
foremost living poets of the motherland." 

ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE: "Fine, swinging, stirring stuff, that 
sings as it goes along. The subjects are capital, and some of 
the refrains haunt one. There is always room for a book of 
unpretentious, vigorous verse of this sort. ' ' 

THE ARGUS: "These ballads make bright and easy reading; 
one takes up the book, and, delighted at the rhythm, turns page 
after page, finding entertainment upon each." 

London: Macmillan and Co., Limited. 



FAIR GIRLS AND GRAY HORSES, 
WITH OTHER VERSES. 

By WILL H. OQILVIE. Twelfth thousand. With 
portrait. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top 
(" Snowy River" Series), 5s. (post free 
5ft. 5d.} 

SCOTSMAN: "Its verses draw their natural inspiration from 
the camp, the cattle trail, and the bush; and their most charac- 
teristic and compelling rhythms from the clatter of horses' 
hoofs. ' ' 

SPECTATOR: "Nothing could be better than his bush ballads, 
and he writes of horses with the fervour of Lindsay Gordon. ' ' 

GLASGOW HERALD: "Mr. Ogilvie sings with a dash and a lilt 
worthy of the captains of Australian song. . . . Whoever 
reads these verses holds the key to all that is attractive in the 
life that is characteristically Australian." 

GLASGOW DAILY MAIL: "A volume which deserves a hearty 
welcome is this collection of Australian verse. ... It has 
a spirit and lyrical charm that make it very enjoyable." 

NOTTINGHAM GUARDIAN: "The author's rhymes have a merry 
jingle, and his lines move with a zest and stir which make them 
altogether enjoyable. ' ' 

BELFAST NEWSLETTER: "Mr. Ogilvie is a poet whose verses 
should become as well known in the United Kingdom as they are 
in Australia, for he has a genuine love of nature, and gifts which 
enable him to express his thoughts in excellent verse. ' ' 

NEW ZEALAND MAIL: "There is all the buoyancy, the lustiness 
of youth, the joie-de-vivre of the man who rejoices in the fresh 
air and the fine, free, up-country life all this there is in Mr. 
Ogilvie 's verse, and much more that is eminently sane and 
healthy, a characteristic production of a wholesome mind." 

QUEENSLANDER : "Within the covers of 'Fair Girls and Gray 
Horses' lie some delicious morsels to tempt all palates. There 
is for the asking, the stirring swing and rhythm of his galloping 
rhymes, the jingle of bit and bridle, the creak of well-worn 
saddles, the scent of gum and wattle, the swift, keen rush of 
the bush wind in the face of ' The Man Who Steadies the Lead. ' 
. . . . Picture after picture starts out of his pages to 
gladden the hearts of the men out back. " 



HEARTS OF GOLD, AND OTHER VERSES. 

By WILL H. OGILVIE, author of "Fair Girls and 
Gray Horses." Third thousand. Crown 
8vo., cloth, 4s. 6d. (post free 5s.). 



THE SECRET KEY, AND OTHER VERSES 

By GEORGE ESSEX EVANS. With portrait. Crown 
8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top (" Snowy River" 
Series), 5s. (post free, 5s. 5d.). 

GLASGOW HERALD: "There is ... the breath of that 
apparently immortal spirit which has inspired . . . almost 
all that is best in English higher song." 

SPECTATOR: ". . . . Mr. Evans has a rarer talent, for 
he has the flute as well as the big drum. ' ' 

THE BOOKMAN : ' ' Mr. Evans has written many charming and 
musical poems, . . . many pretty and haunting lines. ' ' 

SCOTSMAN: "The book is interesting in no common degree 
as applying the old traditions of English verse with happy 
artistry to the newer themes that nourish poetry in the Never- 
Never Land. ' ' 

BRITISH AUSTRALASIAN: "Because Mr. Evans has not given 
us bush ballads, it must not be supposed that he has failed to 
catch the true Australian spirit. He feels the spaciousness and 
sunlit strength of Australia, and he has put them into his 
verses. ' ' 

AUSTRALASIAN: "Mr. Evans' poetry is thoughtful and 
scholarly, his language well chosen, and his versification flowing 
and melodious. . . . His pervading note is a cheerful con- 
templation of the present, and a belief in the future of his 
country. ' ' 

HOW HE DIED, AND OTHER POEMS. 

By JOHN FARRELL. Third edition. With Memoir, 
Appreciations, and photogravure portrait. 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. (post 
free 5s. 4d.) 

MELBOURNE AGE: "Farrell's contributions to the literature 
of this country were always distinguished by a fine, stirring 
optimism, a genuine sympathy, and an idealistic sentiment, 
which in the book under notice find their fullest expression." 

NEW ZEALAND MAIL: "Of the part of Mr. Farrell's work con- 
tained in this volume it is not necessary to say more than that 
it has long since received sincere commendation, not only from 
other Australian writers, but from men eminent in letters in 
England and America." 

THE WORLD'S NEWS: "It is a volume which no Australian 
reader can afford to be without. John Farrell was a vigorous 
writer, one, too, in whom the poetic spirit was very strong, and 
he had the gift of expressing himself in terse language. Had 
he written nothing else than 'Australia to England,' nis name 
would live for all time. ' ' 



THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
BRUNTON STEPHENS. 

New edition. With photogravure portrait. Crown 
8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. (post free 5s. 5d.). 
See also Commomvealth Series, page ?/. 

THE TIMES: "This collection of the works of the Queensland 
poet, who has for a generation deservedly held a high place in 
Australian literature, well deserves study." 

DAILY NEWS: "In turning over the pages of this volume, 
one is struck by his breadth, his versatility, his compass, as 
evidenced in theme, sentiment, and style." 

THE ATHENAEUM: "Brunton Stephens, . . . well known 
to all those who are curious in Australian literature, as being, 
on the whole, the best of Australian poets. ' ' 

ST. JAMES' GAZETTE: "This substantial volume of verse con- 
tains a great deal that is very fresh and pleasing, whether grave 
or gay." 

MANCHESTER GUARDIAN: "He shows a capacity for forceful 
and rhetorical verse, which makes a fit vehicle for Imperial 
themes. ' ' 

SPEAKER: "We gladly recognise the merit of much that 
appears in 'The Poetical Works of Mr. Brunton Stephens.' 
. . . . In the more ambitious pieces (and in these the author 
is most successful) he models himself on good masters, and his 
strains have power and dignity. ' ' 

PUBLISHERS' CIRCULAR: "Having greatly enjoyed many of 
the poems in the handsome edition of Mr. Brunton Stephens' 
works, we strongly advise such readers of poetry in the old 
country as are unacquainted with his contributions to English 
literature to procure the volume as soon as possible." 



A BUSH GIRL'S SONGS. 

By 'RENA WALLACE. With portrait. Crown 8vo, 
cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. (post free, 5s. 4d.}. 

DAILY TELEGRAPH: "There is passion as well as melody in 
'A Bush Girl's Songs'; and there is thought also real thought, 
that underlies the music of the verse, and gives the writer some- 
thing definite to communicate to her readers on the great 
universal subjects that are the province of true poetry, as 
distinct from mere verse. One cnnnot help remarking with 
pleasure the prevailing note of hopefulness, a sunshiny charm, 
that is felt throughout all this fresh young writer's work." 

G 



WHEN THE WORLD WAS WIDE, 
AND OTHER VERSES. 

By HENRY LAWSON. Thirteenth thousand. With 
photogravure portrait and vignette title. 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. (post 
free 5s. 5d.} 

THE ACADEMY: "These ballads (for such they mostly are) 
abound in spirit and manhood, in the colour and smell of Aus- 
tralian soil. They deserve the popularity which they have won 
; n Australia, and which, we trust, this edition will now give them 
in England." 

THE SPEAKER: "There are poems in 'In the Days When the 
World was Wide' which are of a higher mood that any yet 
heard in distinctively Australian poetry." 

LITERARY WORLD: "Not a few of the pieces have made as 
feel discontented with our sober surroundings, and desirous of 
seeing new birds, new landscapes, new stars; for at times the 
blood tingles because of Mr. Lawson's galloping rhymes." 

NEWCASTLE WEEKLY CHRONICLE: "Swinging, rhythmic 



WHEN I WAS KING, AND OTHER VERSES- 

By HENRY LAWSON. Fifth thousand. Crown 
8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4s.). 

Also in two parts, entitled " When I Was King," and " The 
Elder Son." See page 14. 

SPECTATOR (London) : "A good deal of humour, a great deal 
of spirit, and a robust philosophy are the main characteristics 
of these Australian poets. Because they write of a world they 
know, and of feelings they have themselves shared in, they are 
far nearer the heart of poetry than the most accomplished de- 
votees of a literary tradition. ' ' 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "He is known wherever the 
English language is spoken; he is the very god of the idolatry 
of Australian bushmen ; ... he has written more and is 
better known than any other Australian of his age. . . . 
There is a musical lilt about his verses which makes these dwell 
in the memory, and there is in them also a revelation of truth 
and strength. . . . 'When I was King' contains work of 
which many a craftsman in words might well be proud . . . 
lines that Walt Whitman a master of rhythm when he liked, 
and a worshipper of it always would have been proud to claim 
as his own." 



VERSES, POPULAR AND HUMOROUS. 

By HENRY LAWSON. Fourteenth thousand. 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4s.). 
For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page 14. 

Francis Thompson, in THE DAILY CHRONICLE: "He is a 
writer of strong and ringing ballad verse, who gets his blows 
straight in, and at his best makes them all tell. He can vignette 
the life he knows in a few touches, and in this book shows an 
increased power of selection." 

NEW YORK EVENING JOURNAL: "Such pride as a man feels 
when he has true greatness as his guest, this newspaper feels 
in introducing to a million readers a man of ability hitherto 
unknown to them. Henry Lawson is his name." 

ACADEMY: "Mr. Lawson 's work should be well known to our 
readers, for we have urged them often enough to make acquaint- 
ance with it. He has the gift of movement, and he rarely offers 
a loose rhyme. Technically, short of anxious lapidary work, 
these verses are excellent. He varies sentiment and humour very 
agreeably. ' ' 

THE BOOK LOVER: "Any book of Lawson 's should be bought 
and treasured by all who care for the real beginnings of Aus- 
tralian literature. As a matter of fact, he is the one Australian 
literary product, in any distinctive sense." 

THE BULLETIN: "He is so very human that one's humanity 
cannot but welcome him. ... To the perpetuation of his 
value and fame, many pieces in ' Verses : Popular and Humorous ' 
will contribute." 



JOE WILSON AND HIS MATES. 

By HENRY LAWSON. Sixth thousand. Crown 

8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4s.}. 
For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page 14. 

THE ATHENAEUM (London) : " This is a long way the best work 
Mr. Lawson has yet given us. These stories are so good that 
(from the literary point of view. 01 course) one hopes they are 
not autobiographical. As autobiography they would be good, as 
pure fiction th y are more of an attainment. ' 

THE ACADEMY: "It is this rare eonvincir-g tone of this 
Australian writer that gives him a great value. The most 
casual 'newspapery' and apparently artless art of this Aus- 
tralian writer carries with it a truer, finer, more delicate com- 
mentary on life than all the idealistic works of any of our 
genteel school of writers." 

8 



ON THE TRACK AND OVER THE SLIPRAILS. 

By HENRY LAWSON. Sixteenth thousand. Crown 

8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4s.) 
For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page 14. 

DAILY CHRONICLE: "Will well sustain the reputation its 
author has already won as the best writer of Australian short 
stories and sketches the literary world knows. ' ' 

PALL MALL GAZETTE: "The volume now received will do 
much to enhance the author's reputation. There is all the 
quiet irresistible humour of Dickens in the description of 'The 
Darling River,' and the creator of 'Truthful James' never did 
anything better in the way of character sketches than Steelman 
and Mitchell." 

GLASGOW HERALD : ' ' Mr. Lawson must now be regarded as 
facile princeps in the production of the short tale. Some of 
these brief and even slight sketches are veritable gems that 
would be spoiled by an added word, and without a word that 
can be looked upon as superfluous." 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "It is not too much to say for 
these sketches that they show an acquaintance with bush life 
and an insight into the class of people which is to be met with 
in this life that are hardly equalled in Australia. ... In a 
few words he can paint for you the landscape of his pictures 
or the innermost recesses of his bushman 's soul. ' ' 



CHILDREN OF THE BUSH. 

By HENRY LAWSON. Fifth thousand. Crown 
8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4s.).\ 

Also in tivo part*, entitled "Send Round the Hat " and " The 
Eomance of the Swag." See page 14. 

DAILY TELEGRAPH: "These stories are for the most part 
episodes which appear to have been taken direct from life 
. . . . and Mr. Lawson contrives to make them wonder- 
fully vivid. . . . Mr. Lawson 's new stories are as good 
as his old ones, and higher praise they could not get." 

THE BULLETIN: "These stories are the real Australia, 
written by the foremost living Australian author. . . . 
Lawson 's genius remains as vivid and human as when he first 
boiled his literary billy." 

NEW ZEALAND TIMES: "His latest work, so far from ex- 
hibiting any signs of failing talent, seems to us to rank 
amongst the best he has yet done." 

9 



WHILE THE BILLY BOILS. 

By HENRY LAWSON. With eight illustrations by 
F. P. Mahony. Twenty-eighth thousand. 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4s.}. 

For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page 14. 

THE ACADEMY: "A book of honest, direct, sympathetic, 
humorous writing about Australia from within is worth a library 
of travellers' tales. . . . The result is a real book a book 
in a hundred. His language is terse, supple, and richly 
idiomatic. He can tell a yarn with the best." 

THE SCOTSMAN: "There is no lack of dramatic imagination 
in the construction of the .talcs ; and the best of them contrive 
to construct a strong sensational situation in a couple of pages. 
But the chief charm and value of the book is its fidelity to the 
rough character of the scenes from which it is drawn." 

LITERATURE : ' ' These sketches bring us into contact with one 
phase of colonial life at first hand. . . . The simplicity of 
the narrative gives it almost the effect of a story that is told 
by word of mouth." 

THE SPECTATOR: ''It is strange that one we would venture 
to call the greatest Australian writer should be practically un- 
known in England. Mr. Lawson is a less experienced writer 
than Mr. Kipling, and more unequal, but there are two or three 
sketches in this volume which for vigour and truth can hold 
their own with even so great a rival. Both men have somehow 
gained that power of concentration which by a few strong strokes 
can set place and people before you with amazing force." 

THE TIMES: "A collection of short and vigorous studies and 
stories of Australian life and character. A little in Bret Harte's 
manner, crossed, perhaps, with that of Guy de Maupassant. ' ' 

BRITISH WEEKLY : ' ' Many of Mr. Lawson 's tales photograph 
life at the diggings or in the bush with an incisive and remorse- 
less reality that grips the imagination. He silhouettes a swag- 
man in a couple of pages, and the man is there, alive." 

THE MORNING POST: "For the most part they are full of 
local colour, and, correctly speaking, represent ra'-.her rapid 
sketches illustrative of life in the bush than tales in the ordinary 
sense of the word. . . . They bear the impress of truth, 
sincere if unvarnished," 

10 



AN OUTBACK MARRIAGE : A Story of Australian Life. 

By A. B. PATERSON, author of "The Man from 
Snowy River," and "Rio Grande 's Last 
Race." Third thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth 
gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4s.). 

SCOTSMAN : ' ' The chief virtue of the book lies in its fresh 
and vivid presentment of the wild life and the picturesque man- 
ners of the Australian bush, while in form and style it claims 
recognition as a work of considerable literary distinction. ' ' 

PALL MALL GAZETTE: "The whole tone of the book is fresh 
and breezy. . . . Altogether, this is a distinctly interesting 
story. ' ' 

GLASGOW HERALD: ". . . . will stand comparison with 
works of fiction produced in any part of the English-speaking 
world. " 

PUBLISHERS' CIRCULAR: "A good yarn, pithy, strong, and 
attractive." 

BRISTOL WESTERN PRESS: "A bright and cheerful yarn of 
Australian life, seasoned with a delightful humour." 

THE BULLETIN: J l A cheerful story, told with the careless ease 
and unassuming casualness that a reader would naturally asso- 
ciate with the author of The Man from Snowy River. It is a 
fine, cheerful, healthy, matter-of-fact yarn." 



AN ANTHOLOGY OF AUSTRALIAN VERSE. 

Edited by BERTRAM STEVENS. Seventh thousand. 
Foolscap 8vo., limp leather, extra gilt, 3s. 6d.; 
limp cloth, 2s. 6d. (postage 3d.) 

THE TIMES : ' ' There is plenty of good verse, there are touch- 
ing, vigorous, effective poems, in Mr. Bertram Stevens 's Aus- 
tralian Anthology. It is a collection of real interest." 

THE SCOTSMAN : ' ' Mr. Stevens 's selection is full of interest. ' ' 
SHEFFIELD DAILY TELEGRAPH : ' ' This book is a highly inter- 
esting and agreeable one." 

DUNDEE ADVERTISER: "Excellent and comprehensive. . . . 
Mr. Stevens has had the use of MS. poems in several cases. 
This volume, therefore, contains several pieces not to be found 
in other collections. ' ' 

GLASGOW HERALD: "This delightful volume." 
SYDNEY MORNING HERALD : ' ' There is evidence in the selec- 
tions and in the introduction that he has made a diligent and 
careful study of the whole field of Australian poetry. We have 
only to thank both editor and publishers for a beautiful little 
book full of beautiful things." 

London: Hacmillan and Co., Limited. 
11 



DOT AND THE KANGAROO. 

By ETHEL C. PEDLEY. Illustrated by F. P. 
Mahony. Eighth thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth, 
extra gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 3s. lid.). 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: " 'Dot and the Kangaroo' is with- 
out doubt one of the most charming books that could be put into 
the hands of a child. It is admirably illustrated by Frank P. 
Mahony, who seems to have entered thoroughly into the spirit 
of this beautiful journey into the animal world of Australia. 
The story is altogether Australian. . . . It is told so simply, 
and yet so artistically, that even the 'grown-ups' amongst us 
must enjoy it." 

DAILY TELKGRAPH: "The late Miss Ethel Pedley was a 
musician to the core. But towards the close of her life she 
made one step aside into the domain of a sister art, which re- 
sulted in a book for children, entitled ' Dot and the Kangaroo ' 
a charming story of the ' Alice in Wonderland ' order. . . . 
Dot, the small heroine, is lost in the bush, where she is fed and 
ministered to by a helpful kangaroo, who introduces her gradu- 
ally to quite a little circle of acquaintances. We hob-nob, 
through Dot, with our old friends the opossum, the native bear, 
the platypus, the bower-bird, not to speak of the emu sheep- 
hunters and the cockatoo judge. There is a most exciting fight 
between a valiant kookooburra and a treacherous snake. Alto- 
gether, Miss Pedley 'a story is told in a way to entrance our 
small readers, who generally revel in tales where animals are 
invested with human attributes." 

THE ARGUS: "A sort of fairy story with local colour, which 
would be very acceptable to Australian children. . . . Dot 
is a little girlie who lives on the edge of the bush, and one day 
she wanders off and gets lost. But a big kangaroo finds her, 
and takes charge of her. She eats some berries which give her 
the power to understand the bush talk, and after four days 
amongst the great wild creatures, the kangaroo finds her home 
again for her. It is a pretty story, prettily told." 

DAILY MAIL (Brisbane) : "A more fascinating study for Aus- 
tralian children is hardly conceivable, for it endows the numerous 
bush animals with human speech, and reproduces a variety of 
amusing conversations between them and Dot, the little heroine 
of the book. . . . It is a clever production that adults may 
read with pleasure. ' ' 

TOWN AND COUNTRY JOURNAL: "Miss Pedley 's book was a 
labour of love, and it should prove a source of pleasure to count- 
less children. . . . She has been very happy in her method, 
and has done her work cleverly. ' ' 

THE COURIER (Brisbane): "In this delightful story book 
there is an artist's faneifulness, with the skill of a capable 
writer. ' ' 

12 



THE OLD BUSH SONGS. 

Collected and edited by A. B. PATERSON, author 
of "The Man from Snowy River," "Rio 
Grande's Last Race/' &c. Sixth thousand 
Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. (post free, 2s. 9d.). 
For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page 14. 
DAILY TELEGRAPH: "Kude and rugged these old bush songs 
are, but they carry in their vigorous lines the very impress of 
their origin and of their genuineness. . . . Mr. Paterson 
has done his work like an artist." 



THE SPIRIT OF THE BUSH FIRE : 

Australian Fairy Tales. 

By J. M. WHITFELD. Second thousand. With 32 
illustrations by G. W. Lambert. Crown 8vo., 
cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. (post free 3s.). 

SYDNEY MORNING HKRALD: "It is frankly written for the 
young folks, and the youngster will find a delight in Miss Whit 
f eld's marvellous company." 

DAILY TELEGRAPH: "It is pleasant to see author and artist 
working together in such complete harmony. We have had so- 
called ' Australian ' fairy tales before, but the sprites and gnomes 
and mermaids have been merely' stray visitors from English 
shores, old acquaintances of an old-world childhood, dressed to 
suit alien surroundings. Miss Whitf eld 's fairies are native to 
the soil." 

HISTORY OF AUSTRALIAN BUSHRANGING. 

By CHARLES WHITE. In two vols. Crown 8vo., 
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. each (postage 6d. each). 
Vol. I. The Early Days to 1862. Tenth 

thousand. 

Vol. II. 1863 to 1878. Ninth thousand. 
See also Commonwealth Series, page 14. 

YEAR BOOK OF AUSTRALIA: "The bushrangers have long since 
left the stage of Australian history, but their evil deeds live 
after them, and are likely to do so for many years to come. 
Having collected all the published details relating to the career 
of the Tasmanian as well as the Australian gangs, Mr. White 
has reduced them to a very readable narrative, which may fairly 
be termed a history. In this shape it forms a valuable contri- 
bution to the general history of the country, especially as a 
picture of social life in the past." 

QDEENSLANDER : " Mr. White has supplied material enough 
for twenty such novels as ' Robbery Under Arms.' " 

3 



THE COMMONWEALTH SERIES. 

Crown 8vo., picture cover, Is. each (postage 3d.). 

How HE DIED : VERSES. By John Farrell 

SEND ROUND THE HAT : STORIES. By Henry Lawson 
THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAG : STORIES. 

By Henry Lawson 

WHEN I WAS KING : NEW VERSES. By Henry Lawson 
THE ELDER SON: NEW VERSES. By Henry Lawson 
JOE WILSON : STORIES. By Henry Lawson 

JOE WILSON'S MATES: STORIES. By Henry Lawson 
ON THE TRACK: STORIES. By Henry Lawson 

OVER THE SLIPRAILS: STORIES. By Henry Lawson 

POPULAR VERSES. By Henry Lawson 

HUMOROUS VERSES. By Henry Lawson 

WHILE THE BILLY BOILS: STORIES. First Series. 

By Henry Lawson 
WHILE THE BILLY BOILS: STORIES. Second Series 

By Henry Lawson 

THE OLD BUSH SONGS. Edited by A. B. Patcrson 

MY CHINEE COOK, AND OTHER HUMOROUS VERSES. 

By Bninton Stephens 
HISTORY OP AUSTRALIAN BUSHRANGING. 

By Charles White 

Part I. The Early Days. 
Part II. 1850 to 1862. 
Part III. 1863 to 1869. 
Part IV. 1869 to 1878. 

* For press notices of these booTcs see the cloth-bound editions 
on pages 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and IS of this Catalogue. 

14 



THE JUSTICES' MANUAL AND POLICE GUIDE . 

A Synopsis of offences punishable by indictment and on 
summary conviction, definitions of crimes, meanings of 
legal phrases, hints on evidence, procedure, police duties. 
&c , in New South Wales. 

Compiled by DANIEL STEPHEN, Senior-Sergeant of 
Police. Second edition, revised in accordance 
with State and Federal Enactments to the end 
of 1905, and enlarged by the inclusion of a 
concise summary of Commercial Law. Crown 
8vo., cloth gilt, 6s. (post free 6s. (id.). 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "Justices of the peace and others 
concerned in the administration of the law will find the value 
of this admirably-arranged work. . . . We had nothing but 
praise for the first edition, and the second edition is better than 
the first." 

TOWN AND COUNTRY JOURNAL: "The author has put together 
a vast amount of useful and generally practical information 
likely to be interesting, as well as valuable, to justices of the 
peace, policemen, and all others concerned in the administration 
of the law. ' ' 

SYDNEY MAIL: "A well got up handbook that should prove 
of decided value to a large section of the community. . . . 
Primarily intended for justices of the peace and policemen, it 
is so handily arranged, so concise, and so comprehensive, that 
it should appeal to everyone who wants to know just how he 
stands in regard to the law of the land." 

SYDNEY WOOL AND STOCK JOURNAL: "The book practically 
makes every man his own lawyer, and enables him to see at a 
glance what the law is upon any given point, and will save 
more than its cost at the first consultation." 

SYDNEY STOCK AND STATION JOURNAL: "To speak of a work 
of this kind as being interesting would doubtless cause surprise; 
but it is most certainly a very interesting work. We strongly 
recommend it." 



COOKERY BOOK OF GOOD AND TRIED 
RECEIPTS 

Compiled for the Presbyterian Women's Missionary 
Association. 

Tenth edition, enlarged, completing the 95th 
thousand. Crown 8vo., cloth, Is. (post free 
Is. 3d.). 

15 



THE LAW OP LANDLORD AND TENANT IN 
NEW SOUTH WALES. 

By J. II. HAMMOND, B.A., LL.B., and C. G. W. 

DAVIDSON, B.A., LL.B., Barristers-at-Law. 

Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, 25s. (post free 

25s. Wd.). 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "... a valuable contribu- 
tion to legal literature. . . . The authors have incorporated 
the various Statutes in force in the State, annotating them with 
care, precision, and judgment. The notes and references have 
relation, not only to decisions in this and the other States of 
the Commonwealth, but also to English decisions under Statutes 
held to be in force in New South Wales. . . . The value of 
the work, which bears evidence of close and careful research, is 
enhanced by the fact that hitherto there has been no text-book 
which completely embraced the subject." 

DAILY TELEGRAPH: "It must be said that the joint authors 
have done their work in an able and thorough way, the 560 
pages which the book contains being replete with matters of 
moment to those desirous of ascertaining the state of the law 
on rather a complicated subject. . . . The whole of the 
local law of landlord and tenant is presented in a concise form 
to the profession and the general public." 

THE LAND AND INCOME TAX LAW OF 
NEW SOUTH WALES. 

By M. M. D'ARCY IRVINE, B.A., Solicitor of the 
Supreme Court. Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, 42s. 
(post free 43s.). 

THE SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "We have here a complete 
review of the direct taxation scheme of the State for the last 
ten years; an authoritative review which gives the law itself 
and its interpretation. . . . Mr. D'Arcy Irvine does not 
inflict upon us the long descriptions of the road to a decision 
which some judges find it necessary or expedient to make. He 
gives us the decision, the one important matter, and little 
else. ' ' 

DAILY TELEGRAPH: "The author has done his work in a most 
thorough way, and has produced what should be a valuable con- 
tribution to local legal literature. Moreover, the subject is 
dealt with in such a perspicuous style, that a layman, by perusal 
of it, should have no difficulty in ascertaining exactly where he 
stands with regard to the Acts bearing upon this form of taxa- 
tion." 

16 



THE ANNOTATED CONSTITUTION OF THE 
AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH. 

By Sir JOHN QDICK and R. R. GARRAN, C.M.Q. 
Royal 8vo., cloth gilt, 2ls. 

THE TIMES: "The Annotated Constitution of the Australian 
Commonwealth is a monument of industry. . . . Dr. Quick 
and Mr. Garran have collected with patience and enthusiasm 
every sort of information, legal and historical, which can throw 
light on the new measure. The book has evidently been a labour 
of love." 

THE SCOTSMAN: "Students of constitutional law owe a 
welcome, and that in a scarcely less degree than lawyers do who 
are likely to have to interpret the laws of the Australian Consti- 
tution, to this learned and exhaustive commentary 

The book is au admirable working text-book of the Constitu- 
tion." 

DAILY CHRONICLE: "Here is the new Constitution set out and 
explained, word by word how each phrase was formulated, where 
they all came from, why they were put in, the probable diffi- 
culties of interpreting or administering each clause, with such 
help as can be given by considering similar difficulties in other 
Constitutions; every point, in fine, in which lawyers' skill or 
the zeal of enthusiasts can discern the elements of interest." 

GLASGOW HERALD: "Will at once take rank as a standard 
authority, to be consulted, not only by students of constitutional 
history and political science, but also by all those who, in the 
active fields of law, politics, or commerce, have a practical in- 
terest in the working of the new federal institutions of Aus 
tralia." 



CALENDAR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY. 

Demy 8vo., linen, 2s. 6d. ; paper cover, Is. (postage 
8d.) [Published annually, in May. 



MANUAL OF PUBLIC EXAMINATIONS HELD BY 
THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY. 

Demy 8vo., paper cover, Is. (post free Is. 3d.). 

[Published annually, in August, and dated the year 
following that in which it is issued, 

\1 



IRRIGATION WITH SURFACE AND SUBTER 
RANEAN WATERS, AND LAND DRAINAGE. 

By W. GIBBONS Cox, C.E. With 81 illustrations 
and a coloured map of Australia. Crown 8vo., 
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (pofit free, 4s.}. 



THE AUSTRALASIAN : "The work under notice, which has 
special reference to the utilisation of artesian and sub-artesian 
water, is the most valuable contribution to the literature on 
the subjects dealt with that has yet appeared iu Australia." 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "The chief value of the book will 
be, perhaps, for the individual irrigationist. The author goes 
into detail on most phases of small schemes. . . . He takes 
various crops and fruit trees separately, and gives a lot of 
sound information on the question. The sinking of wells, the 
erection of reservoirs, ditches, checks, and grading are all con- 
sidered." 



THE HOME DOCTORING OF ANIMALS. 

By HAROLD LEENEY, M.R.C.V.S. With nearly 
100 illustrations. 8vo., cloth, 7s. 6d. (post 
free 8s. 7d.). 

CONTENTS. I. Diseases of the Blood II. Diseases of the 
Heart III. Diseases of the Digestive System IV. Tumours V. 
Diseases of the Kespiratory Organs VI. Diseases of the 
Eye VII. Diseases of the Brain and Nervous System VIII. 
Diseases of the Generative Organs IX. Diseases connected with 
Parturition X. Troubles of the New Born XI. Skin Diseases 
XII. Parasites and Parasitic Diseases XIII. Diseases of the 
Foot XIV. Lameness and Bone Diseases XV. Wounds and 
their Treatment XVI. Bleeding: How to arrest Bleeding and 
how to Classify XVII. Operations: Such as Castrating and 
Docking XVIII. Blisters, Blistering, Firing, Setons, Seton- 
ing XIX. Poisons and Antidotes XX. Antiseptics and Disin- 
fectants XXI. Anaesthesia, Insensibility to Pain XXII. 
Physicking, Purging Horses, Cattle, Sheep, Pigs, Dogs, and 
Cats XXIII. Diseases of Poultry XXIV. Administration of 
Medicines XXV. Medicines: A Comprehensive Series of Pre- 
scriptions XXVI. Nursing and Foods for the Sick XXVI I. 
Methods of Control or Trammelling Animals XXVIII. Vices, 
Tricks, and Bad Habits of the Horse. 

18 



THE PLANTS OF NEW SOUTH WALES : 

An Analytical Key to the Flowering Plants (except Grasses 
and Rushes) and Ferns of the State, set out in an original 
method, with a list of native plants discovered since 1893. 

By W. A. DIXON, F.I.C., F.C.S. With Glossary 
and 49 diagrams. Foolscap 8vo., cloth gilt, 
6s. (post free 6s. 5d.). 

NATURE: "This is a handy little oook providing a compact 
guide for naming flowers in the field. . . . The author lays 
stress on the extensive use made of vegetative characters for 
identification, with which there can be only entire agreement so 
long as the characters are determinative." 

DAILY TELEGRAPH (Sydney): "The author has succeeded in 
bringing his subject within the comprehension of the ordinary 
observer. In a concise introductory note, Mr. Dixon points 
out the difficulty of identifying plants by the use of scientific 
treatises, and substitutes a system based 011 the use of more 
easily observed characters. ' ' 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD : ' ' The book is interesting as well 
as ingenious, it is a valuable contribution to the botanic litera- 
ture of Australia." 



SIMPLE TESTS FOR MINERALS. 

By JOSEPH CAMPBELL, M.A., F.G.S., M.l.M.E. 
Fourth edition, revised and enlarged (com- 
pleting the tenth thousand). With illustra- 
tions. Cloth, round corners, 3s. 6d, (post 
free 3s. 9d.). 

BALLARAT STAR : " This is an excellent little work, and should 
be in tlie hands of every scientific and practical miner.'' 

BENDIGO EVENING MAIL: "Should be in every pro3pector's 
kit. It enables any intelligent man to ascertain for himself 
whether any mineral he may discover has a commercial value." 

BUNDABERG STAR: "A handy and useful book for miners 
and all interested in the mining industry." 

NEWCASTLE MORNING HERALD: "The book is a thoroughly 
practical one." 

WYALONG STAB: "Now it will be possible for miners and 
prospectors to test any mineral which has a commercial value." 

19 



THE PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF BOILER 
CONSTRUCTION : 

A Manual of Instruction and Useful Information for 
Practical Men. 

By W. D. CRUICKHANK, M. I. Mech. E., late Chief 
Engineering Surveyor, New South Wales 
Government. Second edition, revised and 
enlarged, with 70 illustrations. 8vo., cloth 
gilt, 15s. (post free 15s. 9d.). 

[Just published. 

THE ANALYSIS OF INANIMATE FORM, OR 
OBJECT DRAWING. 

By GEORGE H. AUROUSSEAU, Sydney Technical 
College. With 68 illustrations. Crown 4to.. 
cloth, 3s. 6d. (post free 3s. 9d.). 



BRUSHWORK FROM NATURE, WITH DESIGN. 

By J. E. BRANCH, Superintendent of Drawing, 
Department of Public Instruction. Pre- 
scribed by the Department of Public Instruc- 
tion, N.S.W., for Teachers' Examinations. 
With 19 coloured and 5 other plates. Demy 
4to., decorated cloth, 7s. 6d. (post free. 8<t. Xd.) 
N.S.W. PUBLIC INSTRUCTION GAZETTE: "This book is in- 
tended primarily to illustrate methods of instruction in the art 
of using the brush in such colour-work as may be taught edu- 
catively in primary schools. The author recognises the true 
place that drawing, as a mode of thought expression, should 
occupy in relation to other school work. He is careful to point 
out that mechanical facility in representing natural forms is 
not in itself an end, but merely a preliminary training intended 
to lead to something higher in the educative process. The part 
that brushwork may be made to play in the educative process, 
and its advantages over other forms of drawing, under certain 
conditions, are stated clearly and convincingly in the intro- 
duction." 

THE SCHOOLMASTER (London): "The teaching is very care- 
fully set out, and is quite up to the standard of English authors 
in the same subject. The plates, too, are very carefully de- 
scribed and explained, and many useful hints are embodied in 
the notes. We have nothing but praise for the matter, style, 
and get-up of the book." 

London : The Educational Supply Association, Ltd. 

20 



THE KING'S BUSINESS; 

Practical Addresses on the Work of the Ministry. 

By Rev. JOHN WALKER, Commissioner of the 
Presbyterian Church in New South Wales. 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 4s. (post free 4s. 6d.}. 

MELBOURNE AKGUS : ' ' Simple, clear, frank, unpretentious, yet 
able and vigorous, practical and useful. ' ' 

SYDNEY MCRMNG HERALD: "We have here something of 
special value. . . . The judicial but always genial tone of 
this book will probably appeal to intelligent laymen at once. 
. . . . Thoroughly sane and shrewd. . . . Experience 
kept in countenance by scholarship, and the summing-up is 
lightened by the results of wide reading." 

DAILY TELEGRAPH : ' ' Mr. Walker 's book will be welcomed by 

all the Churches that own allegiance to the Evangelical flag. 

. . . Modest, tactful, intensely earnest, lucid in expression, 

persuasive, broadly sympathetic tolerant where to'erance is 

large-minded, and always genial in temper." 



THE RADIANT DAYS OF LIFE : Sermons and Addresses. 

By Rev. GEORGE MARTIN, Methodist Minister. 
Edited by Rev. J. B. Carruthers ; with an 
Appreciation by Rev. E. J. Rodd, and 
portrait. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
(po*t free 4s ). 

THE METHODIST: "The editor, in his judicious selection of 
sermons for publication, gives some idea of the scope and character 
of Mr. Martin's preaching. . . . The sermons now published 
will prove most instructive and helpful to the reader." 

CHURCH SERVICES, FOR USE BY LAYMEN. 

Prepared on the Authority of the Presbyterian 
Church of Australia (State of New South 
Wales). Foolscap 8vo., cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
(pott free 2s. 9d.). 

THE MESSENGER: "It will be strange if these prayers do not 
come to be used apart from their direct intention, as, for in- 
stance, in the home." 

NOTES ON THE SHORTER CATECHISM. 

By JOHN BURGESS, M.A. Part I. Questions- 
1-38, 4d. (post free 5d.) 
Part II. Questions 39-81, 6d. (post free Id.). 



TABLES FOR QUALITATIVE CHEMICAL ANALYSIS 

Arranged for the use of students by A. LIVER- 
SIDCE, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S, Professor of 
Chemistry in the University of Sydney. 
Second edition, Royal 8vo., cloth gilt, 4s. 6d. 
(post free 4s. 9d.). 

CHEMICAL. NEWS: "Altogether the book is a useful, thoroughly 
workable text-book, and one that is likely to find considerable 
favour with teachers of chemistry. There is a complete index, 
and the price is very reasonable." 



AN INTRODUCTION TO THE INFINITESIMAL 
CALCULUS 

By H. S. CAKSLAW, M.A., D.Sc., F.R.S.E., Pro- 
fessor of Mathematics in the University of 
Sydney. Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, 5s. (post free 

5s. 3d.). 

THE TIMES: "Concise lucidity is the key-note of the book. 
. . . . Professor Carslaw may be congratulated upon hav- 
ing produced an admirable book, which should be useful to 
young engineers and science students, both during and after 
their college courses. ' ' 

KNOWLEDGE: "The object has been to present the funda- 
mental ideas of the Calculus in a simple manner, and to illus- 
trate them by practical examples. It will prove a very useful 
book for use, especially in technical schools. ' ' 



PRACTICAL PHYSICS. 

By J. A. POLLOCK, Professor of Physics, and 0. U. 
VONWILLER, Demonstrator in Physics, in the 
University of Sydney. Part I. With 30 
diagrams. 8vo., paper cover, 3s. 9d. (post 
free 4s.). 



ABRIDGED MATHEMATICAL TABLES. 

By S. H. BARRACLOUGH, B.E., M.M.E., Assoc. M. 
Inst. C.E. Demy 8vo., cloth, Is. (post free 
Is. Id.). 

Logarithms, &c., published separately, price 6d. 
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22 



THE GEOLOGY OF SYDNEY AND THE 
BLUE MOUNTAINS : 

A popular introduction to the study of Australian Geology 

By Rev. J. MILNE CURRAN, late Lecturer in 
Chemistry and Geology, Technical College, 
Sydney. Prescribed by the Department of 
Public Instruction, N.S.W., for First and 
Second Class Teachers' Examinations, Sec- 
ond edition. With a Glossary of Scientific 
Terms, a Reference List of commonly-occur- 
ring Fossils, 2 coloured maps, and 83 illus- 
trations. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 6s. (post 
free 6s. 6d.). 

NATURE: "This is, strictly speaking, an elementary manual 
of geology. The general plan of the work is good; the book 
is well printed and illustrated with maps, photographic pictures 
of rock structure and scenery, and figures of fossils and rock 
sections." 

SATURDAY EEVIEW : ' ' His style is animated and inspiring, or 
clear and precise, as occasion demands. The people of Sydney 
are to be congratulated on the existence of such a guide to their 
beautiful country." 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "Though the book deserves to be 
made a University text, it will have another distinction, perhaps 
more agreeable to the author that of being a means by which 
the intelligence of many a reader will be directed to that science 
of the earth, the materials and the monuments of which are 
beneath our feet continually. ' ' 

DAILY TELEGRAPH : ' ' Mr. Curran more than justifies his claim 
to an independent method of presenting his gathered stores of 
knowledge. The style, simple, clear, and enticing, leaves nothing 
to be desired ; and even a child 's eye, caught in some trick of 
familiar, if involuntary, association by pictures, must pause in 
the responsive desire to know all about it." 

TOWN AND COUNTRY JOURNAL: "There has always been a 
painful sense of distance in the study of geology as taught in 
our schools. ... To get a real grip of the science, it is 
absolutely necessary that 'the student should see something for 
himself, and the author endeavours to bring the science home 
to the Australian student by basing this popular introduction to 
the study of it on the material literally at his doors." 

THE ARGUS: "As a handbook for schools in which it is 
desired to interest the advanced classes in the study of nature, 
the volume has great value." 

23 



THE GROWTH OF THE EMPIRE : 

A Handbook to the History of Greater Britain. 

By ARTHUR W. JOSE, author of ' ' A Short History 
of Australasia." Prescribed by the Depart- 
ment of Public Instruction, N.S.W., for First 
and Second Class Teachers' Certificate Exami- 
nations. Second edition. With 14 maps. 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 4s. 6d. (post free 
5s.). 

MORNING POST: "This book is published in Sydney, but it 
deserves to be circulated throughout the United Kingdom. The 
picture of the fashion in which British enterprise made its 
way from settlement to settlement has never been drawn more 
vividly than in these pages. Mr. Jose's style is crisp and 
pleasant, now and then even rising to eloquence on his grand 
theme. His book deserves wide popularity, and it has the rare 
merit of being so written as to be attractive alike to the young 
student and to the mature man of letters." 

LITEBATUBE: "He has studied thoroughly, and writ3s vigor- 
ously. . . . Admirably done. . . . We commend it to 
Britons the world over." 

SATURDAY REVIEW: "He writes Imperially; he also often 
writes sympathetically. . . . We cannot close Mr. Jose's 
creditable account of our misdoings without a glow of national 
pride. ' ' 

YORKSHIRE POST: "A brighter short history we do not know, 
and this book deserves, for the matter and the manner of it, 
to be as well known as Mr. McCarthy's 'History of Our Own 
Times.' " 

THE SCOTSMAN: ". . . . a thoughtful, well-written, and 
well-arranged history. ' ' 

THE SPECTATOR: "He certainly possesses the faculty of pre- 
senting a clear summary, and always appears to hold the scales 
fairly. . . . We can heartily commend both the subject and 
style of this able and most admirably arranged history of the 
British Empire." 

GLASGOW HERALD : " An excellent specimen of the vigorous 
work produced by the School of History at Oxford." 

SCHOOL VVoKLD : " A finely written, fascinatingly, interesting, 
and most Inspiring history of the expansion of England. No 
better preliminary survey need be required." 

London: John Murray 



HISTORY OF AUSTRALASIA : 

From the Earliest Times to the Inauguration of the 

Commonwealth 

By ARTHUR W. JOSE, author of "The Growth of 
the Empire." The chapter on Federation 
revised by R. R. Garran, C.M.G. Prescribed 
by the Department of Public Instruction, 
N.S.W., for Second and Third Class Teachers' 
Certificate Examinations. With 6 maps and 
64 portraits and illustrations. Twelfth 
thousand. Crown 8vo., cloth, Is. 6d. (post 
free Is. 10d.). 

DAILY TELEGRAPH: "There was ample room for a cleverly 
condensed, clear, and yet thoroughly live account of these 
colonies such as Mr. Jose now presents us with." 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD : ' ' Possibly we have not yet reached 
the distance in point of time from the events here recorded to 
permit the writing of a real history of Australasia; but Mr. 
Jose has done good work in the accumulation and orderly 
arrangement of details, and the intelligent reader will derive 
much profit from this little book. ' ' 

THE BOOK LOVER: "The ignorance of the average Australian 
youth about the brief history of his native land is often deplor- 
able. ... 'A Short History of Australasia,' by Arthur W. 
Jose, just provides the thing wanted. Mr. Jose's previous his- 
torical work was most favourably received in England, and this 
story of our land is capitally done. It is not too long, and it 
is brightly written. Its value is considerably enhanced by the 
useful maps and interesting illustrations." 

VICTORIAN EDUCATION GAZETTE: "The language is graphic 
and simple, and there is much evidence of careful work and 
acquaintance with original documents, which give the reader 
confidence in the accuracy of the details. The low price of 
the book leaves young Australia no excuse for remaining in 
ignorance of the history of their native land." 

TOWN AND COUNTRY JOURNAL : ' ' The language is graphic and 
simple, and he has maintained the unity and continuity of 
the story of events, despite the necessity of following the sub- 
ject along the seven branches corresponding with the seven 
separate colonies. ' ' 

26 



THE CUTTER'S GUIDE. 

A Manual of Dresscutting and Ladies' Tailoring. 
By M. E. ROBERTS, Lecturer at Sydney Tech- 
nical College. With 111) diagrams. Second 
thousand. Crown 4to., cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. 
(post free 7s. lid ). 

TAILORS' ART JOURNAL: "To all those inquirers from whom 
we have had continued correspondence asking for information as 
to the ways and means of perfecting their knowledge in the 
rudiments of ladies' dressmaking and tailoring, we can safely 
say that no book is better suited for their purpose than this." 

WOMAN'S BUDGET: "So simple are the directions given that 
the book has only to be known to find a place in all houses where 
the women-folk are anxious to understand the useful art of 
dresscutting. ' ' 

TOWN AND COUNTRY JOURNAL: "These lectures have been 
printed in book form in response to many appeals from students 
and ex-students, to whom this system commends itself, because 
it is easy to learn, accurate, and reliable, and because there are 
neither charts, machines, nor other mechanical appliances to pur- 
chase. To the girl who needs the means to earn a livelihood 
this book will prove invaluable, as it contains the fruits of years 
of practical work. ' ' 



CIVICS AND MORALS. 

By PERCIVAL R, COLK, M.A., Frazer Scholar in 
Modern History, University Medallist in 
Logic and Mental Philosophy, late Lecturer 
in the Training College, Fort -street, Sydney. 
Second edition, revised and enlarged. Crown 
8vo., iu two parts: Part I. Classes I. and 
II.; Part II. Classes JIL, IV., and V. ; 
cloth, Is. each (pout free Is. 2d. each}. 

THE METRIC SYSTEM OF WEIGHTS AND 
MEASURES, AND DECIMAL COINAGE. 

By J. M. TAYLOR, M.A., LL.B. With Introduc- 
tory Notes on the Nature of Decimals, and con- 
tracted methods for the Multiplication and 
Division of Decimals. Crown 8vo , 6d. (post 
free 7d.}. 

26 



ELEMENTARY GEOMETRY: THEORETICAL AND 
PRACTICAL. 

By C. GODFREY, M.A., and A. W. SIDDONS, M.A. 
Prescribed by the Department of Public In- 
struction, N.S.W., for First, Second, and 
Third Class Teachers' Examinations. 
Complete edition (Books I. -IV.), crown 8vo.. 

cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 4ft.) Vol. I. 

(Books I. and II.), 2s. Vol. II. (Books III, 
and IV.), 2s. (postage 3d.). Answers in 
separate volume, price 4d. (post free 5d.). 
Key, 6s. (post free 6s. 3d.). 



THE AUSTRALIAN OBJECT LESSON BOOK. 

Part I. For Infant and Junior Classes. Second 
edition, with 43 illustrations. Crown 8vo., 
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.; paper cover, 2s. 6d. (post- 
age 4d.) 

N.S.W. EDUCATIONAL GAZETTE: "Mr. Wiley has wisely 
adopted the plan of utilising the services of specialists. The 
series is remarkably complete, and includes almost everything 
with which the little learners ought to be made familiar. 
Throughout the whole series the lessons have been selected with 
judgment and with a due appreciation of the capacity of the 
pupils for whose use they are intended. ' ' 



THE AUSTRALIAN OBJECT LESSON BOOK. 

Part II. For advanced classes Second edition, 
with 1 13 illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth 
gilt, 3s. 6d.; paper cover, 2s. 6d. (postage 
4d.) 

VICTORIAN EDUCATION GAZETTE: "Mr. Wiley and his col- 
leagues have provided a storehouse of useful information on 
a great number of topics that can be taken up in any Australian 
school. ' ' 

N.S.W. EDUCATIONAL GAZETTE: "The Australian Object 
Lesson Book is evidently the result of infinite patience and deep 
research on the part of its compiler, who is also to be commended 
for the admirable arrangement of his matter." 



ENGLISH GRAMMAR, COMPOSITION, AND 
PRECIS WRITING 

By JAMES CON WAY, Headmaster at Cleveland-st. 
Superior Public School, Sydney. New edition, 
revised and enlarged. Prescribed by the 
Department of Public Instruction, N.S.W., for 
Second and Third Class Teachers' Certificate 
Examinations. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
(post free 3s. 10d.). 

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD : "It is to New South Wales teachers 
what a highly gifted coach is to a candidate for any particular 
examination " 



A SMALLER ENGLISH GRAMMAR, COMPOSITION, 
AND PRECIS WRITING 

By JAMES CONWAY. New edition, revised and 
enlarged, crown 8vo., cloth, Is. 6d. (post 
free Is. 9d.). 

N.S.W. EDUCATIONAL GAZETTE: "The abridgment is very 
well done. One recognises the hand of a man who has had 
long experience of the difficulties of this subject." 



CAUSERIES FAMILIERES ; or FRIENDLY CHATS. 

By Mrs. S. C. BOYD. Second edition, revised and 
enlarged, containing grammatical summaries, 
exercises, a full treatise on pronunciation, 
French-English and English-French Vocabu- 
lary, and other matter for the use of the 
teacher or of a student without a master. 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 
3*. 10d.). Abridged edition for pupils, 
crown 8vo., cloth, Is. 6d. (post free Is. 8d.J. 
THE LONDON SPECTATOR: "A most excellent and practical 
little volume, evidently the work of a trained teacher. It com- 
bines admirably and in an entertaining form the advantages of 
the conversational with those of the grammatical metkod of 
learning a language." 

28 



GEOGRAPHY OF NEW SOUTH WALES. 

By J. M. TAYLOR, M.A., LL.B. Prescribed by the 
Department of Public Instruction, N.S.W., 
for Second and Third Class Teachers' Certifi- 
cate Examinations. New edition, revised. 
With 37 illustrations and 6 folding maps, 
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free 
3s. 



SYDNEY MORNING HERALD: "Something more than a school 
book; it is an approach to an ideal geography." 

REVIEW OP REVIEWS: "It makes a very attractive handbook. 
Its geography is up-to-date; it is not overburdened with details, 
and it is richly illustrated with geological diagrams and photo- 
graphs of scenery reproduced with happy skill." 



COMMONWEALTH MANUAL TRAINING 
SERIES. 

CONCRETE GUIDE TO PAPER-FOLDING FOR DESIGN. 
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PUPILS' PAPER-FOLDING BOOKS FOR CLASSES I. AND 
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TEACHERS' MANUAL OP CARDBOARD MODELLING 
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free 2s. 3d.). [Other Classes in preparation. 

PUPILS' CARDBOARD MODELLING AND DRAWING 
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THE AUSTRALIAN LETTERING BOOK. 

Containing the Alphabets most useful in Mapping, 
Exercise Headings, &c., with practical appli- 
cations, Easy Scrolls, Flourishes, Borders, 
Corners, Rulings, &c. New edition, revised 
and enlarged, cloth limp, 6d. (post free 7d.). 

29 



A NEW BOOK OF SONGS FOR SCHOOLS AND 
SINGING GLASSES 

By HUGO ALPEN, Superintendent of Music, De- 
partment of Public Instruction, New South 
Wales. 8vo., paper cover, Is. (post free 
Is. 2d.}. 



GEOGRAPHY OF AUSTRALIA AND 
NEW ZEALAND. 

Revised edition, with 8 maps and 19 illustrations 
64 pages. 6H. (post free 7d.J. 



GEOGRAPHY OF EUROPE, ASIA, AFRICA, 
AND AMERICA. 

Revised edition, with 18 relief and other maps, 
and 17 illustrations of transcontinental views, 
distribution of animals, &c. 88 pages. 6d. 
(post free 7d.) 



GEOGRAPHY OF NEW SOUTH WALES. 

With 5 folding maps. 48 pages. 6d. (post free 
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PRACTICAL GEOMETRY. 

For Classes II. and III. With Diagrams. 2d. 
For Classes IV. and V. With Diagrams. 4d. 



PRACTICAL AND THEORETICAL GEOMETRY. 

Books I. and II. Price 6d. each. 



THE REFORM WRITING BOOKS. 

With directions for teaching writing on the 
Reform system. Nos. 1, 2, and 3, Id. each; 
Nos. SA, 4, and 5, 2d. each. Pamphlet on 
The Teaching of Writing, Is. 



30 



AUSTRALIAN SCHOOL SERIES. 

GRAMMAR AND DERIVATION BOOK, 64 pages. 2d. 

TEST EXERCISES IN GRAMMAR FOR THIRD CLASS, FIRST 
YEAR, 64 pages. 2d. SECOND YEAR, 64 pages. 2d 

TABLE BOOK AND MENTAL ARITHMETIC, 48 pages. Id. 
HISTORY OF AUSTRALIA, 80 pages. 4d. Illustrated. 

GEOGRAPHY. Part I. Australasia and Polynesia, 64 
pages. 2d. 

GEOGRAPHY. Part II. Europe, Asia, America, and 
Africa, 66 pages. 2d. 

EUCLID. Books I., II., and III. 2d. each. 

ARITHMETIC AND PRACTICAL GEOMETRY EXERCISES 
FOR CLASS II., 50 pages. 3d. 

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ALGEBRA. Part I., 64 pages. 4d. Answers, 4d. 

ALGEBRA. Part II. To Quadratic Equations. Con 
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Examination Papers to 1900, &c., 112 pages. 4d 
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THE AUSTRALIAN CATHOLIC SCHOOL SERIES 

HISTORY OF AUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND FOR CATHO- 
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PUPIL'S COMPANION TO THE AUSTRALIAN CATHOLIC 
FIRST READER, 32 pages. Id. 

PUPIL'S COMPANION TO THE AUSTRALIAN CATHOLIC 
SECOND READER, 64 pages. 2d. 

PUPIL'S COMPANION TO THE AUSTRALIAN CATHOLIC 
THIRD READER, 112 pages. 3d. 

PUPIL'S COMPANION TO THE AUSTRALIAN CATHOLIC 
FOURTH READER, 160 pages. 4d. 

31 



THE AUSTRALIAN COPY BOOK 

Approved by the Departments of Public Instruc- 
tion in New South Wales, Queensland, and 
Tasmania, by the Public Service Board of 
New South Wales, and by the Chief Inspector 
of Catholic Schools. In 10 carefully-graded 
numbers, and a book of Plain and Ornamental 
Lettering, Mapping, &c. (No. 11). Price 2d. 
each. Numerals are given in each number. 
A.C.B. Blotter (fits all sizes), Id. 



THE AUSTRALIAN PUPIL TEACHERS' 
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A selection of pages from the Australian Copy 
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48 pages. Price 6d. 



CHAMBERS' GOVERNMENT HAND COPY BOOK 

Approved by the Department of Public Instruc- 
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The letters are continuously joined to each other, so that the 
pupil need not lift the pen from the beginning to the end 
of each word. The spaces between the letters are wide, each 
letter thus standing out boldly and distinctly by itself. The 
slope is gentle, but sufficient to prevent the pupil from acquiring 
a back hand. The curves are well rounded, checking the ten- 
dency to too great angularity. 



ANGUS AND ROBERTSON'S PENCIL 
COPY BOOK. 

Approved by the N.S.W. Department of Public 
Instruction. In nine numbers. Id. each. 
No. 1, initiatory lines, curves, letters, figures; 
2 and 3, short letters, easy combinations, 
figures; 4, long letters, short words, figures; 
5, long letters, words, figures; 6, 7, and 8, 
capitals, words, figures; 9, short sentences, 
figures. 

32 



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